Dear Gravity,
by Firepower Phoenix
Summary: Assigned as a guardian angel to someone he didn't even know, Ze'ev struggles as he suddenly finds himself sent to earth to complete his "assignment". With help of a fellow angel, Ze'ev has to find his designated charge and keep them alive, which is much easier said than done. -Angel AU-
1. You Held Me Down In This Starless City

**Hey, guys! To be completely honest, I'm not quite confident about posting this story. I'm not really confident about anything, which is how I relate to Ze'ev too much, but... XD Anyway, it's an idea I've been working on, and thanks to the suggestion of my forever best friend, Hazeldapple, I finally posted it on here. You should seriously go check out her stories on here, they are truly amazing!**

 **I'm sorry in advance for any mistakes, it was 2 AM when I completed this chapter. (Late night writing is the best)**

 **-This story is based around Webkinz, in a world where they live like humans, but without actually having humans-**

Like floating on an endless, pillowy-soft cloud, the world was a comfortable blanket wrapped around him. Safe and secure, an unbreakable calm that filled his entire existence, a feeling he could only relate to the color white.

White. Pure, clean, untouched.

White. Undisturbed, pleasing, comforting.

White.

It wasn't exactly that he could _see_ the white. In fact, he couldn't see anything at all. He couldn't feel, touch, or hear anything. All his senses were inaccessible, unnecessary. It was an innermost feeling, the pure white radiated from his heart and spread throughout his entire body. He wasn't even aware what was happening. All he knew was _white_.

White.

And then, all too soon - though he had no ability to tell how long he had been in this world of a single shade of color and the inability to be fully conscious or have any feeling whatsoever - he could sense the comfort dissapating around him like a mist. At first that was all there was, just the whiteness and nothingness. But it gradually faded, the layers melting, the white becoming less as powerful and bright, the invisible blanket unraveling slowly, yet too quickly. He didn't want this to end, this seemingly everlasting tranquility to leave him unprotected and cold and helpless. With all the strength he could manage, not being able to move or even think past simple, one-word thoughts, he struggled to grasp onto the comfort for as long as he could. It was impossible, it was disappearing like an actual mist, the white was dwindling into darkness. Incomplete darkness, for the source of light lingered in his chest, fluttering as his eyelids did, but too dark for him to feel settled. He longed for the white to return, he despised the drastic difference that seemed to seep into his vision, the black that soaked and covered everything that had once been white.

His senses were returning ever so slowly, he became aware of his heart beating steadily, air being sucked into his lungs in short intakes. Fighting against the darkness that was suddenly behind his eyes, he forced them to open.

Through narrowed slits of light brown, he blinked rapidly, internally pleading for his eyes to adjust to the same shadow of color that surrounded him. This black was more easily penetrable, it wasn't as hard to see through as it had been from behind his closed eyes, and in a matter of minutes he could actually _see_ something other than a color.

The shades of inky ebony gloom grew lighter, he could actually make out the objects around him. He was tilted, on his side, awkwardly facing tall walls on either side of his vision, leading to an opening and something beyond it, something the a least bit comforting - _light_. Much less brilliant than the whiteness inside of him had been, but it was something nonetheless.

Shifting his gaze from the exit of the walled outdoor area to the disinctly cylindrical shape of ... trashcans. And the image of wrinkled and full bags of trash resting nearby, unable to fit into their rightful bins. On the ground - where he assumed he was laying? - was an assortment of rocks and neglected, small pebbles mixed in with the occasional piece of trash. The ground itself must have been concrete, not quite smooth but yet not completely rocky and unbearable, and he began to feel a chill emitting from it's surface. As the seconds passed by, he could definitely feel a stronger cool and a shiver rattle through him. The cold came from the air, extremely unlike the cloud of satisfying comfort he had been previously drifting on.

More practical thoughts began to come to mind as he became more aware of everything.

 _Where am I?_ was the first, most apparently practical question, followed shortly by, _Do I still have my wings?_

Lifting his head slowly in order to keep the world from spinning in a nauseous manner, a quick peek over his shoulder confirmed that his wings were, thankfully, still intact and very much there, however dim and faint they were. Seeing them folded ever so slightly against his back, no matter that there was almost nothing to see but the hazy, almost indistinct shape of the wings, was a relief.

 _You know why you're here,_ his brain whispered, breaking the complete silence around him and in his brain. _This is your job. You're here for a reason. Get up. Get going. There's no time to waste._

His mind supplied him with no real information for remembering the exact cause and _where_ exactly he was, but he didn't disobey it. The voice might have been his own in his head, but he knew who it really came from, that it was an actual order rather than a suggestion.

 _Get up. Get going. No time to waste._

Regardless of the remaining numbness in his paws and scattered about his weak body, he managed to get to his feet in a matter of minutes. Out of instinctual habit, he stretched his wings out to their full length, making sure that they didn't get too stiff and would ache later on from not being properly extended. A small smile cut across his muzzle, the familiar feeling of what he was doing bringing a spike of happiness to mind. He would never get tired of the way they straightened out, popping out the kinks, pulling the muscles gently, almost a tickling feeling.

The giddiness died away a short time later, but he refused to let the despair of not completely recalling the "job" get to him. Second to that, he forced himself to think about something else other than the biting chilliness that creeped into his bones, caused him to loose sight of the thought of the pure, unbroken white of before.

Looking up at the night sky, the dark blues swirled in with marvelously inky black and dotted with numerous blinking stars, he felt a connection. Somewhere, behind the high clouds, the midnight sky, the brilliant dots of light thousands of lightyears away, was home. And he had been placed here temporarily, taken away from his home and left on earth, for a reason. An important reason, a destiny that he couldn't refuse.

Now, if only he could just remember what it was exactly.

The confusion that reigned and lingered led him out of the damp, open alleyway, onto an abandoned street lit by only a few dull lampposts on each block's corner. Their light was nothing magnificent in the least, an uninspiring yellow hue that did little to help his visibility in the dark night. The sidewalks of the street were cold and wet, and though the mental fog continuously kept track of him and his every movement he realized that the streets were covered in ice and that a soft flurry of crystalized ice flakes were now falling freely from the sky.

Snow.

Shivering slightly, he made his way down the concrete path, ignoring the closed shops that advertised various things, from small cafes to beauty salons to retail shops, absently turning onto a mainly secluded and unfrequinted neighborhood. The snowflakes that clung to his fur were undisrupted, he made no move to brush them off or even awknowledged their presence, or that of the bitterly penetraiting cold. He had never experienced anything like it, it was somewhat of a surprise. A surprise ignored as he followed the nagging sense that he _knew_ where he was going, that if he just continued walking he would reach his destination and would discover the reason of his quest. It would come to him if he waited, he knew it would, but he wanted to be rid of the desperate need to know _now_. He was determined to find out. It was his job, his mission, his assignment. How could he accomplish it without knowing what _it_ was in the first place?

Another shiver wracked his frame, stronger than the last time. Such a difference from what he was accustomed to, a difference that he hadn't ever faced in his full life. He had never known anything short of _perfect_ , just talk of it. Come to think about it, he couldn't believe that he was actually standing and breathing in the world, the place he had only heard about from the others. He was away, for the first time, stripped from the protection and peace of the life he knew, now stuck - temporarily, as it was - in a land of deception and lies and problems unable to be fixed by the residents of this world. He was far, so far from his home, and he was expected to be able to figure everything out on his own, sort out his "mission" and complete it without any help?

He was unaware that he had come to a halt, overcome by thoughts that brought an entirely new feeling to him - worry. Never before had he worried about something, he hadn't needed to. Not up there. But down here? There was too much to worry about.

An unfamiliar sound broke through his thoughts and the cloud of worry, causing him to jerk his head around to face the road that ran alongside the sidewalk. A lone vehicle, it's luminous bright front lights causing him to blink rapidly, forcing his eyes to once again adjust to the sudden change.

They never did, so he turned away, staring straight ahead and breathing in deeply. When he released the breath a moment later, a puff of steam floated into the air, glistening and swirling into clusters of unnamed shapes and curls before fading away. Leaving him to stare off into the distance, unfocused and feeling more weak than before. His mind was spinning and he felt like he was drowning in confusion and his own thoughts.

"Aren't you cold?"

Now he turned to face the vehicle that had pulled up parallel to the concrete walk, it's engine buzzing with life despite being put in park. If he squinted hard enough, he could make out a dog in the driver's seat, their window rolled down, staring at him with an unamused look. Unamused, but a flash of concern that was hard to miss.

He shrugged, but couldn't hold back the involuntary shiver sent from his spine. Yes, he was frigidly cold, if that was the word he could use to describe the numbing, piercing chill.

"Need a ride?"

It took a minute, but the words finally registered in his mind and he nodded, a smile tugging at his lips.

The dog in the car sighed, not from being upset at the him for accepting, but for an undecipherable reason, and nodded to the seat beside him in the car. "Hop in on the other side."

Walking to the passenger's door, he stared apprehensively at the contraption keeping him from entering the obvious warm of the inside of the vehicle, glancing uncertainly to the dog driving.

"Just open the door," the dog said, and upon closer inspection, he could see that the driver was a husky, exactly like he had predicted at first. "Get in before you freeze to death."

A minute later they were driving through the quiet neighborhood, silence hanging not uncomfortably between the two. Sitting in the passenger's seat, he couldn't help but let his eyes wander over anything and everything, partially looking for the source of the heat that seemed to flow from every direction and was trapped solely in the cab of the car and nowhere else, partially gaping in amazement at the knobs and buttons on the dashboard. The occasional glance was spared at the husky driving, but the looks were fleeting. He knew him, he had seen him, the husky wasn't anything new. A blessing, maybe, or else he probably would have frozen to death, but nothing new in the least.

The husky was watching him more so, though. Eyeing him as he took it all in, peering curiously at him while a thousand questions filled his mind.

"What are you doing here, Ze'ev?" The driving dog asked, but then shook his head. "No, no, never mind. Better question: why didn't they give you more protection before sending you out into this winter weather nightmare?"

Ze'ev shrugged, wetting his lips before speaking, "It would have been very helpful if they did. It's frigid out there."

"Yeah, no kidding."

Returning again into silence, the Timber Wolf, Ze'ev, inspected the odd locks on the door, right night the opening handle. "Where are we going, Edge?"

"To my house, unless you have somewhere you need to be?" Edge kept his eyes on the road, turning on to a different street, just as dimly lit as the previous road they had travelled. "Do you know where you're supposed to go, or ..."

"No," Ze'ev shook his head, "T-To be honest, I have absolutely no clue why I'm down here, I can't seem to ... to remember the reason I was sent here. I don't even have an idea as to where I'm supposed to go."

Edge slowed the car as he made a sharp turn into a driveway, shutting the engine off before facing the younger passenger. "Ze'ev, it's alright. It happens to all of us the first time we come down. It will click, you will remember in time. Trust me."

Ze'ev nodded, glancing at the floor of the vehicle. Several seconds went by before he felt a sympathetic pat on his shoulder by Edge, catching the remain of a smile on the husky's face. The look in his blue eyes was positivity, sureness, not even questioning that Ze'ev had forever forgotten, and therefore failed, his mission.

"Come on, let's get inside and we can discuss ... _things_ ," said Edge, pocketing the car keys and unlocking the doors, stepping out into the bitterly cold after putting on a thick coat.

Following his lead, Ze'ev left the warmth of the vehicle's inside in trade for the winter blizzard and the snow that was beginning to come down in sheets now, covering every surface and sticking like glue. Frozen glue.

For a moment, after entering the cold outside world again, he could almost feel his wings stretch on their own accord, and a smile worked it's way onto his tired face. No matter if they had gone invisible to the naked human eye, he certainly knew they were there. And that was the comfort he needed then. A sense of familiarity in a new life of unexpected confusion.

 **Well, there we go! A kinda short first chapter, but** _ **something**_ **nevertheless. I hope you enjoyed, and I hope to update this as soon as possible. Thank you for reading!**

 **-Firepower**


	2. Behind These Two White Highway Lines

**Hey guys, sorry it took so long for an update. I've been really tired most nights and busy during the day, so I haven't gotten around to writing another chapter until now. So... please enjoy! :D**

The younger Timber wolf just stared across the table at his friend, a blank expression written across his face. He couldn't see what Edge found so humorous about the situation. Not even thirty seconds before had Edge been sitting there, completely and fully serious, listening to Ze'ev explain to him what he _did_ remember about this entire situation. And then, in the middle of it all, Edge burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Leaving Ze'ev perplexed and slightly annoyed.

"I don't see what you think is so funny," Ze'ev said, blinking slowly. "You _asked_ what happened, so I told you. And you think this is funny?"

Edge swiped at his eyes, which had become teary in his sudden outburst. "No, no, it's not the story itself that is funny. Just the way you're describing it all, I can only imagine that, if I had indeed met one of our own after just being sent down, I would have sounded the same way."

"What way?" Ze'ev tilted his head, no closer to understanding what was so funny than he had been. "What do you find so amusing about my description of what happened?"

"You make it sound like here, on earth, it's some kind of magical land," Edge explained, holding back another cackle, this time directed at the remaining blank stare of the wolf across from him. "The way you described the cold, and the snow, and every little detail you were giving about everything ... it's a good thing I did find you before someone else did, or else I fear they would send you to an insane asylum."

Ze'ev rolled his eyes, not wanting to admit that he was a little behind on this knowledge and had not one clue as to what an "insane asylum" was, and leaned back in his chair. "Earth is, in a way, a magical land, as you say. For me, at least. I'm not used to any of" he moved his paws around, gesturing at not one exact object "this. It's all new for me. And I'm supposed to get used to it _and_ I am expected to protect and act as someone's guardian, someone I don't even know, and I haven't even been on earth for more than five hours and I'm already mentally freaking out!"

"It's alright, Ze'ev, I promise," Edge's smile turned sympathetic, a look Ze'ev had seen from him in the past few hours more than ever before. And he had known Edge ever since he could remember. "They wouldn't send you down here unprepared. You have an assignment, and like I've told you before, you will remember it. I promise. The whole forgetting thing happened to me, too. It's bound to happen when traveling all the way from _up there_ to this place, it's sort of like a temporary amnesia. It will all come back to you, trust me."

Ze'ev stared at him dubiously, but said nothing.

"You have to trust me, you're here for a reason. They don't just send us to earth for a vacation, a break from what we do _up there_ ," he continued, "You were sent for a purpose, there's always a purpose. And in the time that it takes for you to remember what exactly your purpose is, I'll help you. I will teach you what I've learned about this crazy world, and you can stay with me, okay? I won't dump you to figure this out on your own, if you're worried about that."

Looking down, Ze'ev gave him an almost imperceptible nod. "I-I'm sorry, I just ... I haven't ever - havent experienced the real world. It's all so much to take in, I guess. And then there is the pressure of having to find a certain _someone_ and spend however long it takes helping them with whatever their problem is. I really don't know why I am put in charge of this, over someone's life and my own down here. I'm not prepared for something like this."

"Oh, shut up, Ze'ev," Edge joked. "You know that you're one of the smartest, out of all of us, despite being younger than most of the angels. Of course you're ready for this. I didn't think I was, but look where I am now."

Lifting his head, he stared at Edge with a curious grin stretching across his muzzle. "So you have found your charge? You've been gone for nearly sixteen months, I hadn't heard from you in nearly six. You found them? Him? Her?"

"Her," Edge answered, taking on an expression much like Ze'ev's. "Her name is Selene, an arctic fox who lives across town. She's really sweet, I think you'll like her when you meet her."

"Why were you sent down to her, though?"

At this, the husky's smile faltered slightly, for a quick moment dipping into an unpleasant, saddened frown. Ze'ev bit his lip, wishing he hadn't been so open and sudden with his question. If a guardian angel was to be sent down from heaven to help their assigned earthen, it was important. For a reason that was quite urgent, not a joking matter. It wasn't a "let's-send-this-angel-down-to-make-friends-with-earthens" kind of deal, it was more of a "this-person-is-in-harm's-way-and-can't-get-out-on-there-own". He hadn't thought it would be anything too bad, considering Edge seemed pretty happy telling him about this _Selene_.

"Selene's a pretty happy girl," Edge said fondly, quietly. "She's around your age in human years, about nineteen or so. In humans years, I'm around twenty-three, so I'm not extraordinary old to her, but ... yeah. She's always smiling, she's got a great group of friends. She works downtown at a small little cafe, a really clean, nice place with good pay and friendly people. A few of her friends work there, too, and I'll visit her sometimes during her shift. She's always happy to see me. Anybody, really. She loves people. Love's life, in general. Couldn't be happier."

Ze'ev could sense Edge was about to let on to something horrible, a secret he wasn't sure he wanted to know about this seemingly perfectly fine girl.

"There's just one problem with her life."

And here, Ze'ev's heart had already dropped, his expectation of this perfect earthen living a wonderful life sinking in his stomach.

"She has an incurable disease that, here on earth, they call cancer," Edge avoided eye contact, his voice lowering into no more than a miserably sorrowful whisper. "The type of cancer she has ... she's going to die, and there's nothing anybody can do about it. And so I'm here to, I guess, comfort her when she needs it. You know what I mean? Someone to be there during the hard times, a shoulder to cry on when your facade breaks. I will admit that I have grown quite attached to Selene, and I hate the thought of what's going to happen, but there is nothing I can do about it. Saving her isn't my job. And I know where she's going, so that comforts me. I know that I'll see her, not in the same way, not like it is now, but ..." His voice broke, and he paused, turning to the ceiling to hold back the tears that threatened to escape. "It's strange down here, so much different than up there. So much sadness, the chance of death and losing someone before you think their time should have ended. It's full of sorrow and grief, but yet, at the same time, it's filled with so many caring souls, so many people who make living in this broken world worthwhile. I haven't been down here but for sixteen months, like you said, but I've seen life and death in forms we haven't experienced _up there_."

"So, let me get this straight," Ze'ev said, his brow furrowing. "You aren't here to save her, you're here to send her off in a comforting manner, settle her soul before she leaves for good?"

"Precisely," Edge said, recovered and able to keep eye contact once more. "And even though I know she will eventually die, the knowledge that I have helped in some way at all makes me thankful for being assigned to her."

Listening to Edge, Ze'ev couldn't help but continue thinking it was sad. Selene, this perfectly cheerful girl, was going to die, and nobody could do anything about it? It wasn't so much the part of her dying - because Ze'ev, like Edge, knew where she would go - but rather that she was leaving this life behind. She was advancing into the highest realm, she would be moving into her permanent home. The most perfect place ever imaginable. But she would still leave her friends and her life as she knew it. Her family. Her everything. It was a sad thought. Ze'ev prayed that whoever was alloted to him wouldn't be the same as her.

"Oh well," Edge smiled, but it was obviously forced. And then, as if he had read Ze'ev mind, said, "Don't worry. You'll be ready to handle whatever problems your charge has. Believe me. God will help both you and them through whatever it is you're struggling with."

Edge glanced over at a hanging clock on the wall, squinting to see past the shadow that covered part of the room. "It's late, we need to get to bed. It's been a long night, we should really get some rest. And not just because you look like you ran an entire marathon, right after swimming a few hundred laps in an olympic-sized pool."

He didn't argue; he was as tired as Edge had described him.

In the next twenty minutes, Ze'ev was tucked away under the covers of a surprisingly soft bed in Edge's guest bedroom, staring up at the ceiling in a state of near delirium from being so exhausted, which was yet another feeling new to him. It had been an eventful night, to say in the least. He could only trust what Edge said about how he would remember his mission in due time. Edge, who was the first angel Ze'ev had met when he had first become one and the most trusted of them all. He hadn't expected to meet him here of all places. He knew the other angel got "deployed" down to earth to perform guardian duties, but he never imagined _he_ would be sent down to the same place Edge was. Pure luck, because Ze'ev wasn't positive he could handle this new world by himself.

 **/ \\\**

Cold.

Dark.

A circle of light in the center of the room.

He was standing just outside the circle, immersed in deep, suffocating blackness. It was like being trapped in a world of pure, undisturbed darkness, with the only source of light coming from just a few feet away ...

But he was unable to move forward. His feet stuck like glue whenever he tried to reach for the light, and he realized immediately that it was impossible to take a step in that direction. If he moved backward, he wouldn't be able to move back up a step, he would be frozen in place further away from the light. He knew this for fact - this had happened too many times to keep count of.

But no matter how many times this occured to him, he was never able to fight off the lurch his heart gave when, in the direct middle of the circle of light, a form materialized from thin air. The form took shape instantly, the shape of a canine with soft eyes and a warm, never-fading smile. And then, a moment later, another configuration seeped into the light, a few steps from the first figure. Sharper eyes, a dog's face holding not a smile, but neither a frown. A relaxed expression, but eyes avoiding the first shape. And around them, like crimson bleeding through thin guaze, a set appeared behind. Not a set built for acting; this wasn't a stage. It was ... home. What home had looked like for the past five years, with no change or variation, just more light and a brighter feeling to the entire room. The light seemed to stretch, it's beam widen and allow more space for his eyes to roam upon all the familiar objects and furniture, the view from a window showing early night, the first sprinkle of stars just barely seen through the glass. But his eyes were not scattered, they were not determined to take in every detail, but rather stayed on the two dogs.

 _"Are you going out again tonight?"_

The words spoken from the second dog, the one not exactly smiling, were clear and easily heard. Like audio from a television, no background noises, clear, lifelike. As if there wasn't a beam of light trapping these two dogs in, as if this was real life. Happening right now.

 _The smiling dog's expression only grew. "Yeah, Pira and I were planning to go eat dinner, then maybe just drive around for a little bit."_

 _"I think it's really good that you and Pira are hitting it off so well," the second canine finally cracked the smallest smile, his eyes brightening. "It's about time you find_ someone _."_

 _The other dog laughed, an action full of such cheer and joy and happiness, saying, "Yeah, yeah. I get it, you're wanting me to give you credit, aren't you?"_

 _"Well, I_ was _the one who got you two together in the first place. If it weren't for me, you would still be single. We both know that on your own you never would have found a girlfriend."_

The urge to go forth, to break into the scene playing before his eyes, like a movie that had been replayed over and over, was so strong that he was mentally pleading against himself, he would have fought tooth and bone to get away from the clip. The _memory_. He knew what was coming, and it was painful knowing and not being able to avoid it.

 _The second dog tossed keys attached to a thin, silver hook toward the other, smirking when he barely caught it, and fumbled to keep it in his paws. "Stay safe, okay?"_

 _"When am I never safe?" Chuckling, the first dog struggled to wink, frowning when he couldn't only lower one eyelid down. He gave it up a minute later, returning to his former smiling self._

 _"You're too safe, actually. You only just learned to drive last month, and you're - what? - a year and a half older than me? But that's why you need to be extra careful; you haven't been driving for a long time at all. And it's night, harder to see things. And you're with a girl, so if you get distracted and happen to stare at her and not the road -"_

 _"That's the worst case scenario, and you know it would never happen with me," the smiling dog rolled his eyes. "I'm waaaaaaay too cautious. I don't even like driving at night, but I'll be with Pira, so ..."_

 _"Just stay safe, that's all I ask, really."_

 _The first dog gave a mock salute, resulting in an eye roll from the other canine._

The scene drifted away, disappearing completely into nothing more than the blinding circle of light he couldn't reach. His heart rate accelarated before another set bled into his vision, slow and colorless at first, but growing steadily more colorful and vivid as the seconds passed.

A highway, mostly vacant and lighted by only a single car's headlights, driving along at a steady pace, just below the speed limit. The road wasn't straight, but with the occasional curve. Thick metal railing on the tighter turns for protection. The car took these bends slowly, with extra caution, especially when the road wrapped loosely around a large hill, making it nearly impossible to see any incoming cars on the other side of the road.

 _"Okay, okay, I get it," the smiling, cheerful dog in the passenger's seat laughed, staring through the windshield at the road. "This is how you want me to drive, I get it."_

 _With two paws steady on the steering wheel and eyes set straight ahead, the second dog gave a half-smile and a glance at his companion. "Yes, this is precisely how you should drive. Maybe you will remember that next time, especially when I'm in the car with you."_

 _"Dude, I was only five miles per hour above the speed limit!"_

 _"Five miles per hour can make a difference, especially if there is a cop around. And it's dangerous on roads like these."_

 _"I was in town, not on a highway."_

 _The driver shrugged. "You should still follow the speed limit. Five miles per hour can make a difference."_

 _"Fine, fine, you win," the passenger sighed, but his everlasting smile only grew as seconds of silence went by. "I promise I'll drive more carefully, Scout. I promise."_

 _The other dog, Scout, nodded, taking a moment to peek over at him. "I trust you. Just not enough to actually drive me anywhere again, not yet at least."_

 _"Like I care," said the other dog, "I actually don't mind not driving this time. It's late, and I'm too tired to have to listen to your instructions and precautions and 'don't do that' or 'slow down' or anything else, really."_

 _"Well, if you're tired, go to sleep," Scout joked, taking a set of tight bends around a hill at a careful pace. "Honestly, it's like you're the little kid or something. It's only midnight, you didn't even want to stay for the final dance at the party."_

Watching with unblinking eyes, his heart rate only picked up as casual conversation was passed between the two dogs in the lifelike scene, a clip of something too familiar. He twitched, the closest movement to breaking past this invisible glue holding him back he could manage. He couldn't close his eyes, he was stuck watching the scene unravel further before him.

 _"You know," the dog sitting in the passenger's seat said after a moment of comfortable silence had settled, "I really do appreciate your concern for me. I mean, it's supposed to be the other way around,_ I'm _supposed to watch over_ you _, but ... I really do appreciate it."_

 _Scout gave him a small smile and opened his mouth to say something. Before a word could be spoken, however, lights as bright as the radiant morning sun flashed and nothing more than a frightened yelp escaped from the dog sitting beside Scout before tires screeched, metal crunched, the vehicle overturned and spun off the road after colliding with another car that had been obviously speeding. The scene was dizzying, horrific crunching of bolts and steel and the engine of the car folding in around the two dogs, glass shattering into thousands of pieces, screams coming from both of them._

 _After what felt like an eternity, the car came to a stop, right-side up thankfully. The vehicle had collapsed in around them, broken parts and glass scattered about and painted with ruby red blood._

For a moment, he was sucked into the scene, thrown into an uncomfortable position, somehow in the driver's seat. He could feel the pain extending through his body, the immense hurt making black spots blink in his vision. Fear rose in his throat, stronger than the overwhelming pain in his body, and he slowly turned his head to the right, the movement dizzying him more than he already was. And in that moment, his heart broke. All the pain disappeared, nothing else was important, nothing except what his eyes were laid on.

 _"N-No. No!"_

His eyes flashed open and he jerked into an upright position, just barely withholding a gasp. Wide, fearful eyes scanned the area around him, his heart pounding out of his chest and deafening him.

He was in his bedroom, his bedsheets positively soaked with sweat. The darkness around him was not like that in the dream, he could make out every familiar piece of furniture and the familiar objects on his shelves, a neatly organized bookshelf tucked in the corner of the room. The single window was covered by a thin curtain, no light coming from behind it.

He swiped a paw over his face, panting and letting his eyes lazily roam around the room. His room. In his house. Not in the car. Not next to ... next to ...

Shaking his head, Scout glanced over at the clock facing him, set on the desk not far from his bed.

3:18 a.m.

The memory burned in his vision every time he closed his eyes. His heart continued to pound. He knew that he wouldn't be able to get to sleep again that night. He might as well get up and get an early start on the day. An extremely early start. He didn't want to go back to fall asleep again, knowing it would only bring on more horrors he didn't want to remember.

Scout sighed, forcing himself out of bed. While his body protested, the aching and still-sore muscles making him wince, his mind didn't. He didn't want to and _couldn't_ relive those memories. Not again.

The two memories were from different nights, two different circumstances. He had told him to be careful, and yet _he_ should have been the one to take that advice. It was his fault. And now he was left with these haunting dreams, these terrible nightmares he couldn't fight off.

He flipped on the lamp set on his desk next to the clock, the light illuminating the room and making him squint.

Just another sleepless night.

 **/ \\\**

 **AH, it's midnight. Yikesss, hehe. Anyway, thank you to those who read and reviewed this story! It means a whole lot to me, and once again, I am sorry for any mistakes and not updating sooner. (Sorry if that last part was confusing, I'm struggling to stay awake, let alone write. Lol.) Also, the idea of Selene having cancer came from a song I was listening to so... random. XD**

 **-Firepower**


	3. It's All A Game Now Versus Then

**Title from "Hum** **Hallelujah" by Fall Out Boy. Because I have no original ideas right now. And I'm really happy because someone got me chocolate milk today so I can properly function in this world. Anywayyyy... enjoy, and I apologize for any mistakes! Feel free to make corrections and what not! ;D**

 **/ \\\**

Watching the younger angel from the cracked door, Edge couldn't resist the affectionate smile that overcame him.

He didn't exactly know why Ze'ev was here. He knew he was coming, he'd been helpfully informed, which was how he knew exactly where to find the Timber wolf. Ze'ev hadn't even questioned how he knew about it. But then again, Edge knew from experience how tiring and full-on draining the trip was from _up there_ to down here. And the confusion accompanying it the first time you came to earth. Dog, Ze'ev was going to have to suffer through much more confusion in the next few weeks. Months. Depending on how long it would take for him to complete his assignment.

Edge didn't know what Ze'ev's mission was, for sure, but he had a strong hunch. And it worried him, to say in the slightest. He knew that Ze'ev was fully an angel, once an earthen who had died. It wasn't often that those who died were chosen to become angels, in fact they had to have qualities deemed important for the job, and sometimes even unfinished business. Edge didn't like to think about those with unfinished business, most of them had horrific back stories, unheard of happening _up there_. Nothing bad happened _up there_.

Edge was fully an angel, his own life as an earthen had ended long before Ze'ev had even been born into the world. He was pretty high in the ranks of angels, based off importance. Near the level with the original, Pure angels. The Pure angels were special, they were completely and totally angels. They had never lived on earth before, they only existed as an angel. There were not a lot of them, but they were stronger than full angels. All the other angels.

And since Edge was in the higher tiers of importance, he knew most of the earthens-converted-angel's back stories, while a good bunch of them didn't remember their previous life. Therefore, he knew Ze'ev's. Which left him questioning why he was back on earth, and if his guess on Ze'ev's mission was correct, _why?_ Did it qualify as unfinished business? Normally that meant past tormentors - which could be anything from abusive relationships to bullies at school who had caused the person to commit suicide, and everything in between - which had caused them to end their life, for the newly-made angels to find a peace by forgiving them and helping protect them from the forces of evil. The opposite side. The dark side. Ze'ev's case didn't seem quite right to write off as "unfinished business". In fact, Edge couldn't place the reason for Ze'ev to be on earth at all. He only knew that it was part of the plan, the great plan, and he didn't doubt it. He was just confused. That was all.

Shaking all the crowded thoughts from his mind, Edge refocused on Ze'ev. He smiled again, thinking how the next few days, or however long it would be, were going to be spent explaining quite a bunch to the Timber wolf. And, in some cases, _not_ explaining. Like his background, his life before becoming an angel. He feared that if he did so, it would mess up whatever his job was. And stars above, he most certainly didn't want to do that.

 **/ \\\**

The weather reporters and forecasts hadn't been wrong the previous day; it had definitely snowed. And Scout hated it.

Despite popular belief that all huskys were "winter dogs", Scout was one of those who didn't like the season. At all. The coldness was not easy to like, and he despised having to even put on a light jacket to go out, much less an actual heavy duty coat.

So, with this said, he had defiantly chosen to wear his thin, faded red _Love Can't Save You_ , hoping it would prove to the weather that he was not easily persuaded into the obligation of heavier clothes.

His destination wasn't too far from his home and he left the house nearly two hours after waking up. It was around five in the morning and hardly a soul was in sight, the sun hadn't yet come up. Not that it would do much to add light, the clouds above didn't seem in any hurry to scurry away and allow the suns rays to shine. And since the roads were probably icy, not to mention filled with snow that would make driving almost impossible, Scout decided to walk.

Walking in the cool (no, absolutely freezing) morning air helped calm him from the nightmare that ceaselessly played over and over, yet his thoughts were anything but pleasant.

It was a familiar street Scout walked along, he didn't have to concentrate hard in order to find his destination, so his mind drifted and swayed, his vision blurred as he began to recall other, older memories.

 _It was no secret that he hated snow. Unlike all the other kids in the neighborhood or anywhere else, really, he found nothing magical about it. There was nothing special about the white flakes that fell from the sky, that piled in the driveway and in the yard and on the roads. He much rather preferred to stay indoors, where it was dry and warm and there wasn't a chance of him getting hypothermia._

 _And although everyone knew this fact and knew that it was useless to even_ try _to get him outside during the winter, one certain somebody was determined to change his mind._

 _"Oh, come on, Scout! It will be so much fun, we can have a snowball fight and make snow angels and . . . and . . . eat snow or something!"_

 _Without turning around to face the excited dog, Scout remained sitting on his bed with a notebook abandoned beside him. "No."_

 _"You'll love it, I promise!" the other dog happily bounded over the bed, flopping down dramatically right next to Scout. "It's like swimming - cold at first, when you just get in the water, but you get used to it! And it's fun to bury yourself in, build snow castles and snowmen and then eat the carrot nose -"_

 _"Only you would ever think to eat the carrot. It's supposed to be the nose, not a snack for you."_

 _The dog rolled his eyes, but his eyes sparkled with a smile covered by the covers. "Okay, then we can take an extra carrot outside with us. Or two, if you want one as well. But the first step is actually agreeing to come out!"_

 _"I don't want to." Scout said simply, his voice devoid of emotion. He was tired of being begged to do something he most positively did not want to do, but he wasn't just going to send_ him _away. "Why can't you go find a few friends or something and have fun without me? I'm having a good time in here. Where it's warm."_

 _"But I want to play with you, Scout! Please, please, please?" At Scout's glare, the other's smile grew. "Come on, pretty please? With a carrot on top? Or, well, on the nose? Well, that doesn't sound right, but . . . I think you get my meaning. Please?"_

 _Scout could see, from the corner of his eye, the other dog giving him puppy-eyes, a heart melting look that couldn't be matched by anyone but him. And with that look and the childish excitement on his features, Scout couldn't believe that the other dog was older than him. Older, but somehow still as kid-like as ever. And the longer he stared at the dog, the lesser he could hold a grip on his decision to remain inside._

 _"Ugh, fine. I'll go out."_

 _As if someone had set fireworks underneath the other dog, he sprung up in the air, jumping onto the ground and bouncing around, cheering all the while. "Yay, yay, yay! I knew you'd change your mind!" He spun around, high-tailing it to the door of the bedroom, before pausing, "Hurry up! I'll go get the carrots!"_

A smile toyed on Scout's face as he stopped to look both ways before crossing a street, not seeing but one or two cars on the road at this hour, in these conditions. Once safely on the other side, he soon fell back into the rhythm of his walking, his surroundings fading out once again.

 _"Scout, look out!"_

 _He turned his head just in time to get a face-full of snow, the impact causing him to stumble. Shaking his head to clear the snow and spitting out what had landed in his mouth, he saw the suspect from which the snowball came from. Standing several feet away, across the yard, laughing._

 _It was true what the other dog said about being out in the snow, comparing it to swimming in the summer. It had only been ten or so minutes since they had emerged from the house, bundled up in coats and, in the other dog's case, earmuffs and three bright carrots, and already Scout had grown accustomed to the temperature. It wasn't that hard, when the other dog kept pelting him with snowballs, rolling in piles of snow so that when he stood up and shook it off, most of it landed on Scout. The other dog was having the time of his life, and it would be a lie to say Scout wasn't having a good time of his own._

 _"Hey, we should build the snow man now!" Struggling over the deep pile of snow that they had plowed with their paws to make trenches, the dog hurried to Scout's side, a wide smile taking up his face. "Or a snowdog! Or a snowrabbit! Or a snowalien!"_

 _Scout laughed and nodded, helping him pack the snow into as large a ball as they could. It took quite a while, for_ somehow _the balls kept getting destroyed by a certain_ somebody, _leaving Scout to rebuild them. The final product was rather lopsided, with a bent stick for an arm on one side, a fork from the kitchen on the other, a soup bowl for a hat, and an old scarf around the snowalien's neck. They had raided the kitchen a second time to find assorted nuts to use for a smile and eyes, and used one of the carrots for the nose._

 _Scout sat back after putting the finishing touches on the snowalien, beside the other dog, who was noisily munching on his own carrot. The dog handed him one of the orange vegetable sticks and together they sat in the fading evening light, smiling at their creation and eating their snack._

 _"I'm glad you decided to come out with me."_

 _Waiting until he swallowed a bite of carrot first, Scout replied, "I'm glad you finally pushed me enough to come out here. This was fun. We need to do it again someday."_

 _The other dog laughed gleefully. "We can do this every single year! Make snowaliens and eat carrots and have snowball fights all day long! And when we get older and move away - not that it will be anytime soon, 'cause we're too attached to each other for that to happen - we will visit each other's house and do this!"_

 _Scout leaned over and placed his head on the other dog's shoulder, yawning, for the activity of the day had taken a lot out of both of them. "Don't worry, we won't have to live apart for a lo-o-o-o-ong time. I'm only thirteen, I won't be going anywhere anytime soon."_

 _"Neither will I," the dog promised. "We'll be friends forever and ever and ever. I won't leave you ever, not even when we have wives and kids of our own!"_

 _Both of them giggled at that prospect of their future. As teens, neither of them could foresee that happening any time soon. The idea of even separating seemed too far, impossible._

Oh, how wrong they had been.

Scout's frown didn't match the smile that had been in the memory. He wasn't playing in the snow as a thirteen year old, with his best friend in the whole world by his side. He wasn't eating a carrot happily while staring a the lopsided mound of snow they had lovingly named a snowalien. He was walking on the street, at five in the morning, alone.

The loneliness spread like a wildfire. Each step he took felt heavier than the last, his heart ached as he continued thinking about the day, years ago, when that activity had occurred and when he had been happy. And now he was anything but that.

His destination came into sight and he stopped. Only a single light in the back of the shop was on, it hadn't even been opened for the day yet, but he wasn't worried.

Taking a deep breath, he tried his hardest to push away his troubled thoughts, pulling the hood up on his jacket higher and releasing a breath of warm air.

It was the past, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

 **/ \\\**

"If you don't stop coming in this early, I'm going to keep you locked out purposefully," Connor, a snow leopard, joked, but still let his friend enter the toasty, warm coffee shop. "No, but in all seriousness, you're _always_ the first customer. Meaning, you are normally here before any of the employees show up."

"Yep," Scout said, rolling his eyes. "You'd be lonely if I didn't. After all, your workers don't show up for another forty-five minutes."

"You know," Connor said, grinning and following the husky as he made his way to one of the empty tables in the corner, "My offer on hiring you for a morning manager position still stands -"

Scout laughed, sitting at the smallest table for two he could find. "I've told you before, Connor. I've got a job already. I really don't need another one to keep up with."

"But, like you said, my other employees don't come in for another forty-five minutes, and they're supposed to be here in thirty! You actually show up on time, and I _know_ you'd fit in here, on our crew!"

Drawing out a notebook and pencil from his jacket and setting it on the table, Scout shook his head, a smile remaining. "Thanks for the offer. Again. But I'm going to have to decline. Again."

Connor heaved a disappointed sigh and started for the shop's counter. "Oh well. It was worth another try, am I right?"

"You're just like Ace," Scout said, flipping open the old, dog-eared pages of the book. "You both think the more you ask, the closer the answer will be to becoming _yes_."

"You never know," Connor grunted.

Humming in reply, Scout set about writing while Connor continued his work, silence but for the whirring fans of the beverage machines from behind the counter and the occasionally scratch of the pencil on paper.

It hardly took five minutes for Connor to reappear at his table with a disposable cup full of coffee, steam rising off of the top like a volcanoe. Sliding into the seat opposite of Scout, he waited for the husky to put down his pencil and take a sip before speaking again.

"All jokes and job offers aside," Connor said, drawing Scout's attention to him, "You look tired today. Well, more so than usual. And for the past week you've been coming in way earlier than normal and . . . well, I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

Scout nodded, brushing away his concern with a casual smile. "I'm doing fine, Connor. Just having trouble sleeping, but what's so unusual about that, right?"

Connor opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the sound of frantic knocking on the door of the cafe. Looking up, the snow leopard grinned at the sight of two of his employees standing outside, one of them dancing around in an attempt to stop shivering. The other was properly bundled, looking bored with her companion and not amused in the least.

Connor left the table and unlocked the doors. He was nearly pushed back by the shivering person in their rush to get inside, but was apologized to by the other for his behavior.

"It. Is. Flipping. Cold. Out. There!" The energetic dog bounced around, shaking off his coat and dropping it on the floor. "I thought my tail was going to freeze off! And that wouldn't be good, at all!"

"Hey, Ace," said Scout, not needing to look up in order to tell who it was. "Hey, Selene."

The second employee, Selene, sighed and followed after Ace, picking up his coat and hanging it up along with hers. Her white fur seemed to glow in the dim lighting of the room, her diamond stud earrings gleamed and sparkled. She had a light pink scarf wrapped around her neck, matching gloves on her delicate paws that appeared untouched by the snow and ice outside. Overall she was just as she always was - pretty, graceful, and, like everyone else, put up with Ace.

"Hey, Scout, whatcha up to?" Ace bounded over. "Did Connor already make you coffee, or do you get to experience one of my famous concoctions?"

Even if Connor _hadn't_ made his drink earlier, for safety reasons Scout would have assured Ace that he had. All it took was a single taste of whatever Ace would cook up and you were sure to never let him do it again.

"Maybe tomorrow," gesturing to his cup, Scout tried to appear disappointed. "Come in earlier and then you can beat him to it."

Ace seemed satisfied by this and skipped away, hurrying to the back room to mix up something for Selene and himself. Poor Selene wouldn't have the advantage of already-made coffee, she would be stuck drinking whatever the German Shepherd brought her. Just one of the (many) cons to being friends with Ace.

For the most part, Scout was unaware of the activity around him. He continued writing, not realizing how fast the minutes went by, not noticing when the shop opened and the day's first actual customers came in.

 **/ / \ \**

Ze'ev stared emotionless at the white layer covering the ground outside, his mind as blank as the snow that littered every inch of the ground. The edges of the window had frosted over, and if he looked close enough, he could see miniscule snowflakes clinging together, each one different than the other.

"You want to go out in this?" Ze'ev asked, staring outside without deviation. "It looks cold."

Edge walked past him, into the kitchen. "Oh, it is very cold. And yes, we will be going out in this."

Ze'ev closed his eyes, thinking back to the previous night. When he had been walking along the streets he had been extremely cold, and he wasn't exactly eager to relive that again. Not yet, when just half an hour ago he had been forced out of bed, out of the covers that had offered unlimited warmth and comfort. He hadn't wanted to leave the bed, nor did he want to leave the house. He didn't understand why on earth anyone would ever want to leave coziness of the walls of the house, especially to go out into the white world where cold was the feeling that stood out above all the others. He wasn't exceptionally excited for whatever his fellow angel had planned.

"Do you want pancakes or oatmeal?" Edge asked from in the kitchen.

For a moment, Ze'ev didn't respond. He just continued staring out at the snow. But now curious as to what either of these objects Edge had listed off were, Ze'ev left his spot and entered the kitchen.

"They both take about the same time," said Edge, distracted as he read the ingredients and instructions on each of the two boxes. "I'm not the most talented pancake flipper, but I haven't made oatmeal in quite a while, either. So they could both turn out kind of . . . eh."

"What are we going to do with them?" Ze'ev's impassive stare followed the husky as he moved around the room, reading the ingredients from one of the boxes and checking in all the cabinets.

"The food?" Edge wrinkled his nose in mild annoyance at Ze'ev ignorance. "We're going to _eat it_."

Nodding once, Ze'ev stopped himself as he became confused again. "Why?"

"Oh my dog, really?" Edge faced him with an expression that repeated his words. "We're going to eat the food so we don't starve to death. Earthens need food to live. And now that you are on earth, you need what they do to live."

"Which is . . .?"

"Food. Water. Oxygen, of the most important things."

Ze'ev didn't look to be anywhere close to understanding. "But if we are angels, why do we need the things earthens do? Why don't we need all those things _up there?_ "

"It's different _up there,_ " Edge said, the best he could to explain while continuing his search for flour. "Everything we could ever need is provided to us, most of it without us knowing. But down here, things change. You have to live almost exactly like the people here do, it is required that you eat and drink and sleep every day, if possible. Otherwise you'll . . . I don't know. Die, I guess." Edge placed a heavy bag of flour on the counter, tilting his head to the side in contemplation. "Well, I don't see how that can happen, really. We have already died. So maybe we just won't be able to live down here on earth anymore and complete our mission. Something like that."

"Oh."

Edge glanced again at the recipe instructions in front of his face before shaking his head. "Never mind. I don't want to risk burning the house down with my cooking. Come on, we will just go to the little cafe in town, where Selene works. It will kill two birds with one stone."

"Wait, so now we're killing birds?" Ze'ev looked alarmed, shocked at his misinterpretation of Edge's words. "To eat them?"

"Oh, never mind! Never mind, Ze'ev!"

 **/ \\\**

 **You see, I wrote a good portion of this chapter several days ago and then decided that I didn't like it. So I deleted most of it and restarted. XD Hehe. If anyone has questions (I doubt they will though) I totally did not use the** _ **Love Can't Save You**_ **jacket idea from a pre-hiatus Fall Out Boy photoshoot I found online, the hoodie Pete was wearing... Not. At. All. XD Hehe. Anyway, thank you for reading, I will try and update soon! Thank you to all who comment! 3**

 **-Firepower 3**


	4. I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

**Well, this chapter certainly took longer than I thought. My only excuse is lack of sleep, motivation, and being busy or just not feeling up to it. We all know how that goes, am I right? Lol. But here we are, with my poor descriptions and paragraphs that took me longer than they should have to write. Not to mention I stole this chapter's title from an MCR song. xD Anyway, enjoy and I apologize for any mistakes! It's 1 AM and I'm struggling to stay awake - again. Revising chapters this late is never a smart idea.**

 **/ \\\**

Lines upon lines of slanted, personalized handwriting made way to small scribbles, random, unfinished sketches. He didn't even realize it, his mind was elsewhere. Everywhere. All at once.

Hours could have passed without his notice, and they did. The once blank page was completely filled, every inch and corner had some form of pencil mark, the lines blurred and overlapping.

Without realizing it, he started adding more detail to a specific sketch, concentrating solely on it. An extra touch-up here and darker shading there . . .

 _Biting his lip, he knew something was off. Something was wrong. Not with him, but with her. Eyes the color of a faded autumn leaf fluttered, the fur around her face ruffled in the light, whispering breeze, her steps were short and of great urgency. Importance. She looked tight, tense. As observed already, something was off._

 _"Scout, we need to talk about something," the words fell from her lips, soft but pressing._

 _He most definitely did not want to discuss whatever she did, he could tell this wasn't good. Tension hung thickly between them, she was avoiding his eyes._

 _"I-I know we don't want to even think about this, but . . ." she finally met his questioning stare with a small, apologetic smile. It dropped as soon as she realized it didn't change his expression, if anything the confusion was multiplying by the moment, and she sighed. "Scout, it's been ten months. Ten months since you've . . . you've changed. And we both know that you haven't been the same. You seem kind of, I don't know, distant. A lot. Like, most of the time."_

 _He stiffened, his eyes widening and blood rushing through his head as she continued, looking away almost in shame._

 _"And I feel as though you don't have enough time for me - for us, for our relationship. For a long while now, every since . . ._ then _, you've been quiet, inactive, and just overall unresponsive to me, my love, our relationship. And I-I understand, but . . . I can't keep giving you my love when it's received by a dead end. This isn't how love goes, and . . . and I think we need to be over, Scout."_

 _Had he felt it was possible, he would have inwardly shattered more than he already was. But that was impossible; he was broken as far as was possible, he was a shell of the dog he used to be. He was, just as she said, a dead end. He had nothing left in this world, he could only keep waking up every morning, keep forcing himself to get out of bed because of the few good things lasting. And she was one of them. One of the last things he had. And now she was leaving him too._

 _"I'm sorry, but it just isn't working out," she leaned in and planted a final, quick and passionless kiss before, with her eyes avoiding his, turning and walking briskly away._

His eyes stung with unshed tears that he quickly blinked away, pulling himself back into reality with alarming speed. Refusal to use the back of his paw to swipe at the pricks behind his eyes - he couldn't risk someone noticing, asking him what was wrong - resulted in several harder, longer blinks. He stared up at the ceiling for several seconds before regaining his composure again.

A glimpse of the rough drawing made Scout hurriedly shut the notebook, casting his eyes about his surroundings instead. He was the least bit surprised to find himself still in the little coffee shop, but the vacancy that had once been was gone, replaced with its daily business, regular and new and visiting customers alike. Too many people there for his liking.

Carefully keeping his eyes from meeting anyone else's, Scout stuffed the pocket-sized notebook back into his jacket, sucking in a deep, steadying breath before standing up and walking to the door. He hadn't hardly finished the cup of coffee, nor did he need to pay. He and Connor had worked out a payment system, since Scout, as part of his job, watched Connor's little sister occasionally for him. It worked for the both of them, and that was what mattered.

He made it out of the shop and into the frigid air without anyone stopping him for a greeting, or to chat and make friendly conversation. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to _stop thinking._

 **/ \\\**

Not much prodding was needed for Ze'ev to follow Edge. In fact, he stuck by his side, if not but a few steps behind. Stopping when Edge did, turning at the exact moment, matching his pace. He didn't complain about the cold, the chill of the morning air. Often, during their walk along the street, Ze'ev would look like he were about to ask something, but shut his muzzle with a confused frown and remain silent. He didn't smile once, which was unlike the Ze'ev that Edge knew _up there_ , but the husky assumed it was just the uncertainty and the lasting confusion. Especially with the fact that Ze'ev still couldn't recall his assignment.

"So," Edge said, disrupting the silence between the two of them, "If all goes as I hope, we will be meeting with Selene and some of her friends at the coffee shop up here."

He was given a blank stare before Ze'ev redirected it to the slippery, icy sidewalk.

"I was, uh, wondering if you might possible not want to use your real name? Your angel name?" Edge grimaced when the words came out differently than he'd planned in his head.

Ze'ev's head jerked up so fast he nearly slipped, but caught himself just in time. "Why?"

"Well, you know . . ." Edge looked up to the sky as if it would give him an easy way to explain his answer, but no answers magically came to mind. He would just wing it in hopes that he didn't confuse the younger angel further. "Some of us who come down to earth prefer having an alias to go by. A few of us, especially the older angels, choose names that sound more _earthen_ , to use while they're on earth."

Understanding dawned on Ze'ev's face and he started nodding, slowly. "To blend in with society. I see."

"Yeah," smiling, Edge let out an internal sigh of relief that he didn't have to struggle with an explanation. "So, do you want a different name for now? For the earthens to call you by?"

"Is Ze'ev an unusual name?"

"It isn't the most common."

"Is Edge?"

"Not really, but . . ." Edge trailed off, watching Ze'ev's almost smile disappear as he schooled his features again, continued staring ahead blankly. "It's no big deal, really. It was just an option, if you wanted to."

He didn't state the real reason why Ze'ev would probably want to use an alias. It was frustrating that he _couldn't_ tell him why that would be a very smart idea, how he couldn't persuade him with knowledge the younger angel didn't know.

Ze'ev hummed in consideration, but his attention was drawn elsewhere, his expression faraway and distant. Edge shook his head, glad when their destination came into view, ahead of them on the street corner, a welcoming, friendly wood sign hanging in front. Smiling, the husky had a feeling that Ze'ev would start feeling more comfortable in the world when he met Edge's earthen friends.

Curiousity won over silence before they had even entered the cafe, and Ze'ev paused outside of the doors, looking hesitant.

Edge, likewise, stopped.

"What happens if I don't ever find the person who I'm assigned to? How will I know who it is, what if I don't find them? What if they need me - someone to help them as their guardian angel - and I'm not able to find them in time? What happens if I meet with your friends and say something wrong, something that alerts them of what we truly are? Can they see our wings? What if -" Ze'ev cut the eruption of questions off with a deep breath, aware that the whisper had become significantly higher pitched as he'd gone on. "What if I never find my charge?"

Stepping to the side so as not to block the entrance to the cafe, Edge gave him a reassuring pat. "Ze'ev, I do believe I have told you quite a few times, you _will_ find your person. If you were sent down here, it's not so you can just walk around in circles of confusion. It will take some time, if you are patient, but you'll know _the_ person when you see them. It's instinct, a built-in feeling. Okay? That makes sense? Good."

Truth was, Edge desperately wanted breakfast and to not have to repeat what he had said a great many times, but knowing that this was a time that Ze'ev needed not only reassurance but encouragment and help, support, he was willing to answer the same questions more than once.

"Don't worry about saying anything wrong around the friends we're about to meet. They are an odd bunch as it is, and even our meeting this morning won't introduce you to all of them, and they're quite accepting of anyone and everything. You can say almost anything and it wouldn't alert them to us being . . . you know. They will more than likely just brush it off. And no, nobody can see our wings. Have you noticed that the outlines of mine and yours are just barely visible? That is only to us, and to all other angels. We're the only ones able to see them down here on earth. No worries there. And again, you'll find whoever you have been chosen to help. If you were placed here, in this city, they are certainly around. It can't be too hard, not much harder than how I found Selene. Okay? You'll be fine, seriously, Ze'ev."

Nodding, Ze'ev seemed less anxious, and reaffirming the smallest spark of confidence in his eyes with a brighter smile, Edge led him into the warm building.

With Edge in front of him by several steps and the immediate waft of coffee grinds, breakfast specialties and pastries, the amiable buzzing of nearby people chatting with each other, and a comforting blanket of friendliness, Ze'ev felt slightly more settled. He tried to come off as indifferent, like this wasn't his first time being surrounded by more than a handful of people he didn't know, hadn't ever seen. But as it was his first time since he became an angel, he didn't blend in as well as he hoped. To his relief, no one noticed or hardly even spared him a passing glance, so he kept his head held low, following in the footsteps of Edge.

"Edge! Buddy!"

The loud outburst coming from the front of the building attracted the attention of many individuals nearby, including Ze'ev. Standing behind the counter, in the middle of taking someone's order, was a smiling dog, the look too large for his face. Ze'ev could see Edge reflecting the look, but refraining from yelling over the crowd in response, stepping over to the side of the long, extended counter and waiting for him to finish taking the person's order.

"That's Ace," Edge said under his breath, "He's the most hyperactive out of our group. Don't be alarmed by anything he does, he's a really touchy, humorous guy who will laugh at anything. Literally."

The German Shepherd turned around and yelled unceremoniously to whoever was manning the coffee making machines the recorded order before abruptly leaving his spot and hopping over to them.

"Edgy, man, it has been WAY too long since I last saw you!" Ace exclaimed, reaching over the counter to give him a rough but playful slap. "Dude, where have you been? What's been going on? Why haven't you been around lately?"

"Ace, I saw you just yesterday," Edge laughed. "Remember, you were considering eating a flashlight battery so you could "recharge" for the rest of the day? And then we stopped you, because we really didn't want to have to take you to the hospital?"

"Or have to call poison control. Again."

Ze'ev hadn't seen the Lab come up behind Ace until she spoke, so her irritated, slightly New York accent came as a surprise. Her expression wasn't as annoyed as her words had come out, but he could guess that these events certainly weren't anything different than normal. Calling a poison control center, taking someone to a hosptial, the words were spoken with indifference, it was obviously nothing special. Which was slightly alarming for Ze'ev to know.

A look of remembrance lit up Ace's expression, and he slapped the counter loudly. "Dog, that was yesterday? Wow, time flies!"

"Except when you're at work," the Lab muttered, rolling her eyes. "Somehow the shift always seems to last longer when you're here, Ace."

Now looking around in search of more "friends" of Edge's, hoping to spot them all so he could best prepare himself and avoid more surprises, Ze'ev's eyes roamed over the large room. The only other person he could see at the moment who appeared interested in the small gathering of dogs at the far end of the counter was another employee, who was actually wearing a nametag that had the word _Manager_ over the capitalized name _CONNOR_.

"Honestly, can you two not stay in your positions, doing your actual job without supervision for ten minutes?!" _Conner_ said by way of joining them, to Ace and the Lab, though his words were anything but venomous, meant by means of joke. "What are we all gathering for over here, while Selene is actually doing her job in the back?"

Edge gave a wave and, upon notice, Connor's look softened. "Oh, hey, Edge. What's up?"

"I decided that making breakfast sounded less preferable to eating here and getting a chance to see all of you guys," Edge explained. He gestured to his companion, who had been invisible during their exchange of greetings due to his silence, "I brought my younger _cousin_ who flew in this morning from . . . Chicago. Thought you guys might like to meet him."

Ace's eyes lit up like fireworks, and indeed it was like they had been set beneath him, for he bounced up, unable to contain his merriement. "I didn't know you had a cousin, Edge! Ah, this is wonderful!" Leaning over the counter, he extended his paw. "Hi, my name is Ace! I love cake! And people! And pizza! But not pineapple! I'm allergic to pineapple! Especially on pizza! But I love people!"

Ze'ev shook it tentatively, avoiding direct eye contact but for a few fleeting glances. He wasn't nervous. Not very much. He couldn't place the feeling, but seeing as how the past twenty-four hours had been made up of unrecognizable emotions, he pushed it down and tried to remain level-headed. Calm. Friendly. Tried to recipricate the happiness practically glowing from the Shepherd.

"I-I'm Ze'ev," he said rather quietly.

"Well, hello, Ze'ev!" Ace stuck his paw out in a repeating gesture, almost subconsciously. "I'm Ace! I am honored to be your new friend! If, of course, you want to be friends with me. Because any relative or friend of Edge is a friend of mine!"

Unsure how to react, Ze'ev snuck a questioning look at Edge, but the husky avoided his gaze, biting his lip. From behind the counter Connor was regarding Ze'ev in a perplexed manner, baffled. His scrutiny caused Ze'ev to stare uncomfortably at the polished wood floor, but he could feel the confused eyes nonetheless.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Ze'ev, and good to see you again, Edge," the Lab said with a small sigh, turning back to take orders from the awaiting customers. "I'll see you guys later. Oh, and Ace? Get over here and do your job."

Ace huffed and rolled his eyes, but skipped off in her direction, completely forgetting about his new "friend".

A stiffness in Edge's appearance that Ze'ev hadn't realized was there melted when Connor's stare fell away. The air around them had grown tense within the time Ze'ev had spoken, which brought him to the conclusion to remain silent and let the older, more experienced angel speak.

"Well, Ze'ev and I are just going to grab something to eat and then I'm going to show him the town, so we'd better get going," Edge said, practiced smile flashing.

After this meeting with actual earthens, his first and only interraction yet, Ze'ev certainly hoped against hope that Edge had no intentions of walking him around to talk to more people. Or, in any case, stand in confusion and be stared at while mentally pleading he didn't say anything wrong.

 **/ \\\**

A cold crawled up his throat as he stepped into the entrance of the house, but it wasn't from the unbearable, merciless winter wonderland outside. It was like a hand was wrapping around his neck, spikes of ice cutting through his fur and tightening, constricting. Immobile, frozen in spot, he barely managed to blink, and caught a black, shapeless shadow slinking toward him . . .

Shaking off the vision after the darkness had gotten mere inches from him, Scout moved forward slowly. The feeling of being suffocated lingered and black splotches played behind his eyes, mocking him, but he ignored it all. If they thought it was going to get the best of him today, _they_ were wrong.

Scout entered the plain, untouched kitchen and shrugged off his damp jacket onto the corner of a chair, setting his notebook on the seat. The plain, simple, untouched kitchen. The only color variation difference from creamy, milky white was the deep maroon fabric and black fur, otherwise it was coordinated and perfectly harmonized in the color and appearance.

He didn't know why he was standing over the sink, empty as it was. He was having trouble focusing on anything, his thoughts were racing by so quickly that not one could be pinpointed. Eyes wide, heart beating rapidly, breaths short and uneven.

 _"You went there again?"_

Scout shut his eyes tight, shuddering at the voice behind him.

 _"You went there again."_

The whisper was like fog or smoke, if either one of those spoke.

 _"I thought you told yourself that, for once, you wouldn't. Not today."_

He inhaled sharply and gritted his teeth.

 _"Why do you keep going there when you know it will only make things worse?"_

Turning around, still not opening his eyes, Scout planted his paws firmly and tried to take in a steadying breath.

 _"It'll only hurt worse if you keep going. You know it only makes thing worse. Is that what you want?"_

Anger spread across his face and he allowed himself to look at who stood before him. "Of course I don't want that."

 _"What do you want?"_

"I want this to stop happening," Scout growled. "I want to stop having these flashbacks, to stop reliving the past. To stop thinking of you and _everything_. I want you to go away and leave me alone."

 _"And you think by going there time and time again will stop all of this?"_

It was sad how the mirage, the hallucination materialized from a ghostly mist, spoke truth that couldn't be denied. Scout couldn't fight back when what the apparition said was of one hundred percent accuracy.

 _"It doesn't help."_

"It doesn't help," Scout muttered, "But it eases the hurt."

The vision shifted, softened with a sympathetic, sad smile that looked both empty and void of feeling as well as sorrow and the grief that blackened Scout's soul.

 _"It makes you feel comforted when you go there, and then return to suffer through this?"_

It didn't. He knew it only harmed him internally, messed him up more than he already was. He wouldn't openly admit it, that the statement was true and that every time he gave into the lonely urges to _go there_ it was just another crack in his nearly shattered shell. But it wasn't like anything else would happen or change if he _didn't_ go there, he'd still have to tolerate the isolated ache of being alone. He would still have to live through the terrifying memories and flashbacks of the past, every night and throughout the day. Nothing would ever change, no matter what he did. So it made little sense to _not_ go there every single day, even if it did little to comfort him.

 _"You need help."_

"No duh, sherlock," grumbling, Scout pushed himself forward, ducking his head when he walked right by the shimmering phantom. "You think I haven't tried to get it? Look where it left me, with absolutely no one."

 _"You didn't tell them about me."_

Scout scoffed and made his way into the living room, aware that the voice and appearance was following him. "Right, because you're stuck in my head. You're a figment of my imagination. A delusion. An _ill_ usion. And if I told anyone about you, they would know for sure that I wasn't okay."

 _"But you're not okay."_

"No, I'm perfectly okay," Scout countered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "To them, I am. That's the goal."

 _"It would be much easier if you told someone that could help you."_

He abruptly turned around, not surprised to see the vision staring at him as before, with the small, wavering smile plastered and directed at him with sympathy. Because he was a sad case, talking to his own mind's creations, ghosts and visions that were invisible to everyone _but_ him.

"And risk having them leave me too?" Scout snapped, not caring in the least how his voice had raised. "It's not worth it. No one can help me. I-I'm stuck. I'm trapped, alone, and there's no hope. There's no one to help me, no hope whatsoever. Now just leave me alone for once!"

Again he squeezed his eyes shut, spikes of red-hot, blue flamed pain shooting through his head. Unshed tears stinging the back of his eyes. The rest of his body going numb.

He knew going to his grave every day wouldn't help his mental stability. It wouldn't make him feel any better than he did right now, it didn't help one bit. But he wouldn't stop. Nothing would hold him back from visiting and revisting the same gloomy, sad, painful tombstone that only made memories arise and the situation darken. He refused to give up the hurtful habit that he had done almost every single day - in sun, rain, snow - for nearly two years.

Certain that no tears would fall and that he wasn't at the brink of falling apart, he opened his eyes and stared at the empty living room around him. No more hallucinations or mists. No one and nothing but him. He was alone again.

"I'm . . . I'm not okay," he whispered, staring at his paws. "I promise."

 **/ \\\**

 **Thank you for the comments, it's keep me inspired and encourages me to force myself to sit down and write instead of procrastinating by READING FanFics ... ;D Here's to hoping the next chapter comes out sooner?**

 **-Firepower 3**


	5. I'll Be Stuck Fixated On One Star

**Well, this chapter is certainly long-due. I am very sorry for delaying it so long. I would set an updating schedule, but seeing as how I am using this story for a warm-up before Camp NaNo in April, I'm trying not to rush myself. Lol. Kind of a leisurely writing, you know?**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter (because somewhere along the way I started to question my sanity) and ... yeah. Okay. Hehe. (Oh, also, that chapter title is from a song, too.)**

 **/ \\\**

It would be a long shot to say he was anywhere near comfortable in his position, a newly angel-converted-Earthen. However, it was safe to say he was getting used to it. The stiffness between his shoulders was slowly relaxing, his steps weren't as tense and his movements less jerky. He had managed a small smile at a few jokes thrown out by Edge, but if what was spoken to him weren't explanations, he would give it only half the attention.

The situation didn't appear as hopeless as it originally had. Edge's guarantees that finding his charge would be less diffucult than it seemed helped ease his mind, at least for the current moment.

"I don't expect you're wanting to walk around in this snowy mess, am I right?" Edge said, seated beside Ze'ev on a park bench that they had brushed several inches of snow off before, sipping their beverages.

Ze'ev had spent the past five minutes staring around the vacant park, heedful of the steaming, dark liquid held within an unsturdy, flimsy paper cup. He didn't quite grasp the understanding of _why_ Earthens had to eat and _drink_ to remain alive, breathing, as a whole being. He only hoped that it would become easier to believe and accept that _he_ was now one of _them,_ in the sense of having to follow the basic, mandatory steps in the course of the human society. Temporarily.

He gave a one shouldered shrug. "I'm not really cold anymore. Not too much."

"The longer you stay out, the more used to the temperature you will get," said Edge. "Well, how about a short walk before heading back to the house? You never know what you might see, or who you will meet."

Ze'ev caught the underlining meaning behind the words and nodded. They had been out in the cold for quite a while, and now that he wasn't positively shaking, shivering and unable to retain any warmth whatsoever, a walk didn't sound all that awful.

"It's too bad we didn't get to talk to Selene much at the coffee shop," Edge mused, standing and waiting for Ze'ev to match the move before embarking down the concrete pathway. "We will definitely have to schedule a time to meet up. All of us - Ace, Connor, Nika . . . the whole group."

"That would be nice. They all seem kind."

"They are," Edge agreed, "Though Ace can get out of hand sometimes. His pranks go a little too far occasionally, but . . . don't worry. He's a nice guy. And, although it doesn't seem like it half the time, there is a way to calm him down so he isn't running around like a chicken with their head chopped off all the time."

Ace's name stuck to Ze'ev's memory more than any other had. He was an unforgettable face, built on unequaled cheer and smiles, words spoken a mile a minute and the instant feeling of clinginess he gave off. Before leaving the cafe, Ace had personally served them and jabbered on for several long minutes about an assortment of random, unrelated topics, all of which were answered with a serious nod but a contagious grin from Edge and, from the Timber Wolf, a blank face that conveyed confusion.

Thinking back to the little time Ze'ev had spent in the Shepherd's company, it seemed nearly impossible for such a wild creature to ever become calm, as Edge said.

The faces they passed along their walk were of no recognition to Ze'ev, and the fleeting thought crossed his mind that there were millions of Earthens on the planet, so many people who were oblivious to what was truly going on around them, the complicated world of angels and the opposite side, the many catastrophic wars that broke through the peace and tranquility everyone believed reigned in the heavens above. Constantly angels were working to save the souls of the helpless on earth, it was a nonstop fight against the works of evil who tried their hardest to turn people against the truth. Not everyone was saved, not every war was won, but it would be. One day. And all the angels knew that. Therefore, using that as their motivation, they kept fighting and even sacrificing themselves under the sharpened blades of angel swords in order to shelter the unknowing humans.

"Do you know any other angels _down here?_ " Ze'ev asked, his steps matching those of his companion. "Certainly in a world as large as this, and with as plentiful people that reside here, there would be plenty of other guardians protecting their assigned person everywhere."

Edge hummed thoughtfully, his silence disturbed by the sound of a nearby music store playing tunes by means of attracting customers. It did little to distract Ze'ev from patiently awaiting the answer to his question.

Sparing a glance around the snowy town scenery, he didn't _sense_ any other unearthly, angelic existences about the area. He could sense Edge, but the feeling had long since faded and had become numbed by the constant presence. His own aura could be dinstinctly sensed by the husky, he knew that. But all around him, everybody else were human. Every single one - Earthen.

"I only know of a few," Edge said slowly. "Angels, here on earth, don't often mingle with each other. We are here for a certain job, and to complete that job so that we may return to the sky and protect from _up there_."

"It's not . . . breaking any rules of anything, if you help me or, you know . . .?"

"Not at all," Edge waved the partial question off. "I'm really only sheltering you and keeping you on your feet until you find your assigned charge."

Ze'ev nodded, relieved immensely. "Which will be very soon, hopefully."

"Indeed. Hopefully."

 **/ / \ \**

It was really his only relief from the nightmare, the thing he called his life.

Seeing cheerful little faces, all glowing with excitement, running around and paying no heed to anyone or anything else. They were kids, after all. They had no troubles, the only fear they possessed was of monsters beneath the bed and receiving vegetables on their dinner plate. Their past was filled with innocence, not yet tampered by the darkness of the world, the evil that lurked in every corner and on every street, that stood in the shadows, unbeknownst to those in the light.

"I can't find Donnie!"

The childish wails interrupted Scout from where he sat, reading a simple picture book to a little tabby kitten. He looked over to see the precious four year old pug, Emily, frantically overturning books and other small objects, searching for "Donnie".

"Scout, I can't find Donnie!" Emily stumbled in his direction, nearly knocking over her two friends playing obliviously on the plush rug. "He was just here, and now he's gone!"

Scout shifted the kitten in his lap and set the book gently on the floor, knowing how this would end. How it normally ended when Emily lost her favorite toy in the entire daycare center, the well-worn green dinosaur that was missing a tail from the use over the years. "Where did you have him last?"

"He was right there!" Emily exclaimed, pointing in the vague direction of the table that stood at kid-height. "And then he was gone!"

 _Oh well, it could be worse,_ he thought, setting the kitten onto a nearby beanbag and standing up. _Cameron could have painted Eli's hair again._

Scout crouched down to look at the distraught pug on her level, an easy, practiced smile directed at her. "How about I help you find Donnie, yeah?"

Her wrinkled face lit up as she nodded her head furiously, beckoning him forward and running to where she had been sitting previously. He followed, except he was much more mindful of young children playing peacefully around him, and only after a promise to return to the book he'd been reading.

Scattered around the room was, what had kept the eight or so young kids preoccupied during the half hour after snack time, an assortment of various toys. Some plastic, some filled with stuffing and little plastic beans, the occasional coloring book and erasable markers. Stepping over it all without tripping or landing on something proved a challenge, one that he had learned how to master long ago.

"I left him here," Emily pointed next to an array of figurines in a circle around a light-up princess carriage, "And then I left to find a horsey to pull the cart, and now he's not here." She was keeping her cool, not yelling anymore, and Scout knew it was because he was there, on the floor, searching with her.

A task always appeared much simpler when you weren't dealing with it alone.

And thus began the search that was a regular occurrence for the daycare employee, almost every weekday that his shift was scheduled. He was informed by the other adult supervisors that it was very common for Emily to lose her special dinosaur.

After a quick ask around the room to the other kids - with several volunteers to help, though Scout assured them he and Emily would be fine - and a tedious retracing of her every step since she had arrived two hours earlier, Donnie was found in the reading corner. A book was propped open in front of him, to make it seem as though he had been reading before Emily snatched him up and cheered with elation.

Emily turned to Scout, hugging him the best she could with the height difference between them, not to mention the awkward, stiff toy she clutched tightly to her chest. "Now I remember! I left him here to finish his book! Dog, he's a slow reader!"

She skipped off, past her friends, back to her play station, past the Golden Retriever who was walking in their direction.

"Did she lose that thing again?" Patrick asked Scout, grinning.

He sighed, but it was out of exhaustion, not annoyance. "Yep. Again."

"I could have predicted it."

A spotted furball ran up to Patrick, dancing around his legs in jubilation. " 'Rick, 'Rick, come color with me! Please, please, please!"

And then, when Patrick, who was the only other supervisor on the job today, was off to entertain the furry leopard, the room returned to it's peaceful, near-silence once again.

Pleasant.

But in the incomplete silence, the mixture of scribbles and playful murmurs and street sounds that had managed to seep in through the warmly painted walls, Scout's mind was anything but pleasant. In fact, with the absence of _something_ occupying his mind, other than his lonely, troubled thoughts, it was _too quiet._

 _"Why are they called shooting stars?"_

 _Scout rolled his eyes, the question so dumb that he almost resisted the urge to answer it, but he did anyway. "When you see the star, it appears as though it was shot from a gun. That's why, you dork."_

 _"But they weren't," staring up at the star-filled night, the different shades of midnight that ranged from black hole dark to a lighter tone of gray, two eyes blinked in confusion. "The stars are in the sky. Not in a gun."_

 _"Not literally," Scout groaned. "You're an idiot. You know that?"_

 _The same eyes that had been transfixed on the sky up above turned just enough to catch his, and a relaxed smile winked at him. "I'm a lovable idiot."_

 _"By who's standards?"_

 _"Mine. And yours."_

 _A chuckle was followed by this statement, but Scout did not deny it. Of course he was a lovable idiot. The person beside him, who may have been older by age, had a childlike fascination that captured the ability to draw in those around him. Of the two, he was by far the more sociable, the more known and higher regarded by adults and kids alike. Scout did not mind; their relationship worked as it did, and neither of them had a problem with it._

 _"Wait - are we supposed to make a wish on every shooting star?"_

 _Scout squinted, once again losing count of the blinking orbs, focusing instead on the newly asked question._

 _"That's what normal people do," he replied, subconsciously scanning the sky for any sign of a falling star. "But I don't."_

 _"Why not? Isn't it supposed to be good luck or something?"_

 _A sigh escaped, the sound heavy, low. It evaporated into the still summer air above, the silence punctuated by chirping crickets nearby, the faraway hoot of an old owl. Side by side, the two of them lay perfectly still on the lush green grass, the unrealistic features of the beautiful night not lost to them._

 _"I don't think there is such a thing as_ luck _," said Scout finally. "Everyone relies so much on what can bring them more luck, on finding this magical thing we call "fate". I don't believe that either of those can be gotten by wishing upon a star, picking a winning number out of innumerable chances. I think . . . I think fate has be decided by itself, and we have to work for good luck. If we want something really bad in life, we shouldn't just wish for it and expect to live the life of luxury. You have to work and fight for it."_

 _As he spoke, a small star shot across their vision before fading out with a trail of glowing, sparkling dust behind it._

 _"And even then, what your "fate" turns out to be, it might not be what you wanted specifically. We can choose how we want to live, but as to how life actually turns out . . . we have no say in that. It isn't our choice."_

 _A moments pause. "So you don't believe in luck at all?"_

 _"I-I guess not," Scout said, shrugging. "I believe what's here, what's now. And that we should be content with however our life turns out."_

 _Shuffling closer, the warm body next to him scooted closer, giggling. "I believe in this moment, too. Because you are here, in this moment, and so am I. And we're together."_

 _"Friends forever."_

 _"Wherever you are," said the person beside Scout, "And wherever I am, together, then I am in the best of luck."_

Together.

"You okay?"

Scout turned, stunned by the disruption for a long second before blinking back into reality. He had been so deep in thought, been reminiscing about past life for long enough that Patrick had already colored with the children, and was now standing in front of him, concern carved in his expression.

"Scout?"

Blinking rapidly, Scout shook his head, the familiar action clearing it enough to think straight again. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Sorry, just . . . tired. Long day, you know?"

Patrick nodded, full of understanding. He gestured behind him, where squishable, safe blocks were being stacked upon each other, building a tower nearly as tall as the kids around it. "I can finish up the shift by myself, if you want to go home early? You don't look so good."

"N-No, I'm fine. I'm good, thanks, though, Patrick." Scout hastened to get out, stumbling over his words as a shooting star danced across his line of sight, from one side to the other, before disappearing just as it had come. "I'm really good, seriously."

 _You're far from good, and you know it._

Scout did not oppose the disembodied voice.

 **/ / \ \**

He knew Ze'ev would, without a doubt, find whoever he was assigned guardian angel over.

He had spent more than half the time Ze'ev had resided on earth promising this.

What he did not anticipate, not in slightest, was that the younger angel would suddenly feel an invisible connection to his Earthen in the middle of the night. Three in the morning.

If this was, indeed, what had drawn Ze'ev from his bed, what had urged him to shake Edge awake and drag him in a groggy stupor into a mess of coats - because the Timber wolf was _not_ about to go outside in the frigid cold without any source of warmth - and down the slippery, iced streets of the neighborhood.

"Ze'ev, it's too early," Edge whined, shivering despite the misplaced bundle of clothes. "It's not even - it's too early! What _are we doing?_ "

"Hurry up, Edge!" Ze'ev, ahead by several steps, only slowed when tripping on his own paws almost sent him sprawling across the frozen sidewalk. "We have to hurry!"

Edge grumbled, but tried his hardest to fully wake up, to get ahold of where they were going. He didn't think - no, he _knew_ \- that Ze'ev knew had no idea where they were traveling. Not exactly. He'd hardly walked the streets in this area once, he wouldn't have a single clue as to which direction they were headed in.

Well, in his daze of sleep, neither did Edge. And he had lived here for over a year. But that was beside the point.

"Ze'ev, can you please explain what's going on?" he knew his voice bordered on pleading, but he was tired, and he was cold. He did not want to be accompanying a confused, wide awake angel in his midnight quest for . . . whatever it was.

Ze'ev paused at the end of the street corner, pausing to catch his breath. It swirled and twisted like smoke, and he spun to face the husky, urgency flashing in the whites of his eyes.

"We have to hurry," Ze'ev repeated, gaze darting back and forth between Edge and up ahead. "Please do speed it up. We must get there soon."

"Get _where?_ " Edge huffed, having somehow lost more breath than Ze'ev, despite the other running in the lead. "Ze'ev, you need to explain. We're going to get lost if we continue like this. Now - what's so important out here?"

Agitated at the delay, Ze'ev resumed walking briskly down the street, away from the lamppost at the corner and closer to the next, across the street. "I can't explain it, Edge. I just . . . I have a feeling - I _know_ something important is . . . is awaiting me. And we have to get there, wherever this feeling is leading me, before it's too late."

"Do you think this has any relations to finding who you're looking for?" Edge recognized the seriousness in Ze'ev's voice and forced himself to become more lucid.

"I don't know. All I do know is that something major is happening, and I need to be there."

Edge said nothing, letting the wolf lead him further and further away from the house, the comfort of a bed and the overwhelming desire for sleep drifting into the distance with every step.

It was as cold as ever, but after a few more minutes of hurried walking, not another word spoken, a frozen tingling began to prickle at the base of Edge's invisible wings that had nothing to do with the winter weather. The shock quivered, spreading upward until it reached the tips, and a numb shiver was sent through his body.

He wondered if Ze'ev felt anything similar, or if this was what the younger angel was feeling all along, if this was what had awoken him and brought them onto this late night escapade. If so, he wouldn't have ignored the impulse either.

"It's up here," Ze'ev whispered so softly that the words were almost lost to the husky's ears. "Whatever it is, we're almost there."

The feeling grew stronger as they came closer to where Ze'ev was certain _something_ was happening. His legs were stiff, his brain sending him warning signals to what they were about to reach.

 _Danger._

 _Hurry._

 _ **Danger.**_

Mixed signals melted into confusion of what hazard the less experienced angel was bringing them to. It certainly deterred him, stalled him from catching up so that he was speeding alongside Ze'ev. He had never felt this way before. Not ever.

"Ze'ev, perhaps we had better stop for a moment . . ." His voice dwindled away as Ze'ev came to a standstill near the entrance of a dark street, lined with, from what Edge could make out in the dimness, muddied snow. And a darkened mound, a lump several yards from where they stood.

Neither Edge nor Ze'ev would have noticed the mound, not if a shadowed configuration wasn't standing directly over it.

Glowing red eyes, an electrical color that filled the pit of his stomach with despair and utmost dread, swiveled upward and the creature growled. The sound resonated in their ears, warned of impending doom that could be initiated upon them should they approach.

A strangled gasp fell from Ze'ev's mouth, surprising Edge from the trance he had fallen into from staring directly at the beast.

Again, the creature growled and, with one more glance to the mass balled into the snow, blinked and vanished, vaporizing into a black mist of wretched smoke before fading out completely. Before Edge could hold him back, Ze'ev was off and running in the direction the red-eyed, monster-like animal had been without a second thought.

"Wait, Ze'ev!"

He arrived at the scene just moments after Ze'ev, panting and blinking down at the ground. Or, more importantly, what was laying on the ground.

A twisted body of a kid, who looked to be no older than thirteen.

Mouth hanging slightly ajar, as if in mid-scream.

Cavernous holes where her eyes should have been, blood dripping from them and onto her neck.

This last detail was probably what concerned Edge the most.

A sidelong glance at Ze'ev, who seemed completely unfazed by the corpse in the snow, instead staring around with wide eyes full of worry, fury, and another emotion Edge couldn't place. He stared around the empty air as if searching for something _he knew was there,_ though Edge doubted he really did. It took a long moment for him to realize what Ze'ev was seeking out.

 _The red-eyed demon._

"Well," Edge said, finding his mouth dry, his tongue heavy. "This is definitely not what somebody wants to see in the middle of the night."

Ze'ev gulped. He was untroubled by the sight of the animal in front of him _who was bleeding from holes on her face in which eyes should have been placed,_ but appeared intent of capturing the demon in his sight again. "He's going for him."

Edge stared, not comprehending. "Come again?"

"That . . . that dark spirit," Ze'ev shuddered, and Edge could see the outline of the fellow angel's wings become more prominent, "He's after him."

Though it took a moment for the statement to sink in, no other explanation was required.

 _The demon was after who Ze'ev was sent to guard._

 **/ / \ \**

 **This is what a single episode of Supernatural does to you. XD Inspiration for adding the demonic whatever-it-is came from my boredom of how the story was turning out and, yes, from the first episode of the series Supernatural I watched. -Also, I would like for everyone to know that this is only how I imagine angels and demons and the like to work** _ **in this fanfiction story alone**_ **. I know for certain angels do not go around drinking coffee and whatever. This is not accurate, and it is 100% made up. Do not rely on it for actual real-life.-**

 **Anyway, I certainly do hope to update this soon! Most of the time I start writing at midnight and don't finish until three in the morning, so that's where most of the mistakes come from; my tired mind. Lol.**

 **Please tell me what you think about this new addition (the red-eyed creatue, hehe) and let me know if anything needs correction!**

 **-Firepower**


	6. Take This To My Grave

**AH, I have listened to The Black Parade album like five times, the Danger Days album twice, Folie a Deux once or twice (?) during the few days it took to write this. Oh, and Too Weird To Live, Too Rare To Die. Yeah, I decided full albums worked better than me actually taking time to make a playlist. XD Hehe.**

 **And yes! A sort-of filler chapter! Because the NEXT chapter is when I will try and piece myself together and write something worth reading. JUST SO YOU KNOW, I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT I WAS THINKING ABOUT WHEN I STARTED TALKING ABOUT THE PRONOUNS THING. IT WAS 3 AM. I DONT KNOW. ;D**

 **/ / \ \**

With the investigation underway, the news people were left to speculate and elaborate upon their guesses, creating fictional falsehoods and rumors about what might have occurred during the disturbing murder of a teenaged town citizen.

Those who worked for the large newspapers, the main sources of the city's news, flocked like ravenous vultures to the story, who wouldn't be satiated until the full account of the _incident_ was uncovered or, should that never happen due to lack of evidence, the story was long forgotten.

The headlines that morning were raving about it, not even twelve hours since the ruthless killing had transpired:

 _ **CITY UNSAFE - MYSTERIOUS MURDERER ON THE LOOSE.**_

 _ **HAZARD: THE STREETS REMAIN UNSAFE WITH NO INFORMATION EXPOSED ON COLD-BLOODED MURDERER.**_

 _ **LATE NIGHT KILLING RAMPAGE STRIKES CITY STREETS.**_

 _ **DEATH TOLL RISING WITH MORE BODIES FOUND.**_

Edge scoffed at the final announcement, the obvious exaggeration, the blatant lie printed in bold, capitalized letters. He didn't believe the word "rampage" was accurate for this specific case. After all, it _was_ only one body found, half buried in the snow, the exact way he and Ze'ev had arrived at the scene, if not slightly more frozen.

No, he was almost sure that the only unnatural death that had happened last night was _that one._ If there had been more, certainly he or Ze'ev would have felt something more.

It was only minutes after they had arrived at the site that whatever had bothered Ze'ev - the feeling or instinct or whatever had awoken him in the dead of night - faded into nothing more than an uncomfortable itch. The warning signs never left from the back of Edge's brain, but the tingling vanished from his currently invisible wings, leaving no sign of ever happening in the first place.

Uncertain whether they should alert authorities of their unlucky, horrifically unpleasant and grotesque find (but what would you expect, Ze'ev wasn't once bothered by the sight, more or less seemed to bypass the scene with little care), Edge decided to make an anonymous call to the nearest police station. He didn't know if the call could be tracked, but determined it wasn't of importance. He could always make up a fictitious story and evade questions that would bring suspicions upon him and his partner.

Safe and unidentified as they were, Edge had held out a small hope that the police officials would keep the event under wraps until more information was found.

"Their attempts to deduce the motive of this slayer are fruitless," Ze'ev muttered, longingly staring across the table at a porcelain mug filled with murky, green tinted water with steam rising. "It is futile to continue questioning the cause of this person's outwardly puzzling death."

Edge pulled the desired mug farther from the wolf's grasp when his paw reached for it - _again_ -, still staring at the newspaper laid on the table. "Not everyone knows the work of a supernatural fiend when they come across it."

"Then perhaps our prime option should not have been calling the police force."

Edge rolled his eyes at Ze'ev's unhappy pout, not willing to let him burn his tongue on the not yet cooled tea once more. "You're saying we should have left the body there for someone else to find? Or take it with us? And do what with it, Ze'ev? Hiding it would be illegal, and even if we did keep it stashed away from the public, what would our next step be, then? It would reek like hell then, no pun intended."

Ze'ev mused over the alternate options that could have been performed, a way that the public eye wasn't let in to what should have remained their secret.

"Maybe it is not of importance that the community knows," shrugging, Ze'ev finally gave up his attempts to reclaim the mug, "After all, we know without hesitancy that what we witnessed was a dark spirit. No one else seems to be concluding this as the truth, it isn't even a suggestion posed by these ridiculous, rumor-spreading fools who call themselves journalists." Edge looked up, but Ze'ev's focus was cast at a foreign object past him. "Therefore we can safely locate and defeat this demon, while everyone else is working themselves into a frenzy with their false notions and beliefs of what truly happened."

"Oh, so you are now preparing to take down this demon?"

Serious, grave eyes met his amused half-smile. "Yes, I intend to do just that. As I told you, I feel he threatens whoever I was sent to protect, and therefore it is my duty to ensure the safety of those who unknowingly rely on me."

"Right, right," Edge mumbled, deeming the lightly flavored drink no longer unsafe for the wolf and pushing it in his direction. "And obviously I'm going to be caught in the midst of this, helping you, because you have never taken on something like this before." He paused, thoughtful. "Well, you've never really dealt with much of _anything_ before, so . . ."

Ze'ev eagerly, yet carefully, took the mug and cradled it close to him, as if it was his closest possession. He treated anything warm with great care, an ineffective attempt to revolt against the frost.

"Yes," Ze'ev nodded resolutely, "Yes. You will definitely need to help me."

"As if I have anything better to do," Edge said, setting aside the paper among the haphazard stack of its peers, in the center of the table. "It's not like _I_ am busy working to protect and support my assigned Earthen or anything."

The solemness never faded, it only intensified in seconds, and from the corner of his eye, Edge could see it directed at him.

Ze'ev sighed, gazing down at the swirls in his tea, the plain, thick glass container in his hand. "Edge, it affects Selene, too. If we don't conquer this dark embodiment, it can do harm and induce great danger upon _everyone_. To the extent of our knowledge, from what we have presumed, this creature had no defined reason to go about and mindlessly murder just _anyone_. Thus, we must make the assumption that no one is safe from _it_."

He made a good point.

Straightening the pile as much as his thoughts, Edge hummed thoughtfully. "Alright, then. Alright, Ze'ev. We will search out the demon, we will kill him. But we must remember this; not only can the other side be as evasive as we, angels, can be, but they have means of killing us, too."

Ze'ev nodded soberly, his rich almond eyes holding a glowing, determined gold quintessence. "I do understand that. We could be killed easily, by taking on this task we risk our lives for those unaware of what peril haunts them. It is a gamble we are compelled to undertake."

 **/ / \ \**

 _He shouldn't be alive._

 _His heart shouldn't have been beating inside his chest._

 _He shouldn't be taking in ragged, rattled breaths._

 _He shouldn't be staring, his eyes cast at the hole in the ground. The hole that wouldn't be uninhabited for long._

 _ **He shouldn't have lived.**_

 _It hadn't been a week and already he was becoming quite the professional at suppressing the tears that threatened to overspill, to roll down his face and fall mercilessly onto the damp ground. It would only add to the splatters of blood that coated his vision, that drenched every surface and refused to dematerialize until he blinked, long and hard, calming his pounding heart, settling his traumatized thoughts._

 _The shattered, fragmented car bent and crushed. The motionless, corpse-like body beside him. Painted streaks of bubbly, stomach churning red from the both of them, smearing and adding an unforgettable horror to the scene._

 _The actual sight, the fresh memory, had ceased to stop replaying, like a damaged record player in his mind. The hurt and fear and crippling reality a second skin to him already. And the accident had only occurred a week ago._

 _A week._

 _The words in his ear blurred like the tears in his eyes, he couldn't comprehend what was being spoken. He didn't want to. He didn't want to hear what was said about the dead body in the casket, words that were meaningless compared to Scout's countless memories._

 _"I'm sorry," the whisper brimmed with choked tears, thousands of reflections of a life that ended too soon, years of shared joy, sadness, a future promising nothing of the sort. "I'm so, so sorry."_

 _A comforting paw reached to offer condolence, but he brushed it off automatically. He hated it. Hated the way everyone thought these feelings of overwhelming sorrow, combined with guilt and sheer terror of having to journey the coming future alone, could be settled by a simple touch. A sympathetic smile. A few words that were meant to console but only served to tear down the wall of false strength he'd built._

 _"I-I failed," Scout breathed out. Unless they were standing directly beside him, no one could have heard him. "I ruined it. Your life. Mine. I-I'm so, so, sorry."_

 _The sky that day had refused to light up like_ his _face used to, on days when the clouds were tucked away in the far distance, when suns radiant rays coruscated from the intense blue above. The air held a dampness, but nothing that caused the chill overtaking his heart, like a rapidly spreading disease._

A sharp pain shook him out of his muddled flashback.

Standing in front of a snow covered tombstone, surrounded by countless others, he had no recollection of getting there.

The pain resounded _inside,_ agony throbbing from his own torturous mind. Torment that he had no end to, that he was not capable of ceasing. A tiredness ached in his limbs, caused his head to hung exhaustedly from reliving the same heartbreaking night during the day and in the darkness of midnights.

"You see what you're doing to me?" Scout let out a humorless chuckle, a dry half-smile with partially opened eyes staring at the engraved words on the stone. "You being gone . . . look at what I've turned into. I-I'm . . . I am just as dead as you are." A low sigh. "Except, as dead as I am inside, I've got to pretend I'm still living on the outside."

Something clawed in the back of his brain, a feeling almost as if he were forgetting something. Not quite remembering _something_ completely. He returned to his hopeless frown, with a hint of confusion tugging at his senses.

A trembling shuddered through him that had nothing to do with the single-digit degree weather. His fur prickled, rose up and bristled. Ocean blue eyes glanced around, suddenly nervous. No, not nervous - conscious of _someone else around, watching him._

Someone, who apparently was hiding.

 _This is just your mind playing tricks on you,_ Scout shook his head. _You're hallucinating again. No one is there. It's just your imagination, nothing more. You're still dreaming. Just wake up._

The feeling never left. It stuck with him, a whisper of faceless eyes staring keenly at him, specifically. Penetrating his inner thoughts, breaking through the mournful grief of moments before.

He retreated back, slowly, mindful of the disembodied presence he could _feel_ following his movements. Disconcerted, the feeling did not disappear until he was far from the cemetery, the snow-mounted tombstones just longing for remembrance by those who once cared and loved for the souls buried beneath six feet of dirt and rock and locked coffins of a long forgotten life.

 **/ / \ \**

High-strung, wild, unrestrained, energetic . . .

In another word, Ace.

He was the only Earthen Ze'ev had met that was ten kinds of crazy, who literally bounced off of walls (his attempt left him on his side, on the floor, both giggling and groaning from the impact), who never heard of personal space, and who made Ze'ev hopeful that no one else was like him. Not that his personality wasn't friendly, because he certainly gave off good-natured, kind vibes wherever he went, but he was just _too_ excitable.

Edge, it seemed, was by now fully used to it and acted as though it were no deal to have the German Shepherd springing and hopping about constantly. Causing chaos and unwelcome yet merry noise in his wake. And, it appeared, not only was Edge familiar with his hyper activity, but all of his friends on earth, too.

Everyone was used to Ace.

Except Ze'ev, who did his best to remain by Edge's side, cowering in his shadow and hoping that Ace would not take any particular interest in speaking - well, benevolent _yelling_ \- to him.

"And then - and then, the guy was like" Ace dropped his voice, mimicking a hoarse, rough voice, " "You shouldn't be back here, it's dangerous for little kids like you." And I just turned to him like, " _excuse me?!_ I have so much right to be back here, are you kidding me?!" And then I got mad because called me a kid. And HE got mad and like, he . . . he like -"

To be honest, Ze'ev had not a single hint as to how spending time alone with Edge's "friend group" was supposed to help them in their newly risen mission to find the elusive demon-creature. The elder angel assured, flinging Ze'ev's skepticism out the metaphorical window, that this would bring them a step closer to uncovering the answers for this problem, allowing them to deal with the dark spirit swiftly, speedily.

"But, like, it wasn't even my fault, you know?" Ace glanced at the two angels as he skipped several steps ahead, a thin mask of seriousness veiling the joviality underneath. "Had I not been instructed to wait in the back room, I wouldn't have gotten interested in that cracked door, you know?"

There was a moment of silence, interrupted by the jangling of keys as Ace bounded up the concrete front steps to the front door of the house, seeking the specific key that matched the shape of the doors lock.

They had arrived at the house Ace shared with a few of his buddies, the destination that, as decided by the entire group, that they meet at that afternoon. Here they would be joining Selene, who Ze'ev had yet to meet properly, Nika from the coffee shop, along with two or so others who Ze'ev promptly forgot their names directly after being told.

"Guys, we're HERE!" Ace burst into the house, and Ze'ev barely had time to slip in after Edge before the heavy door slammed shut on his face. "IT'S PARTY TIME, MY DUDES AND DUDETTES!"

"In the living room," came a softer reply, nearly indiscernible when compared to Ace's shout. A following call, in a slightly bristled, distinctly accented voice, "And don't forget to take off your coats before going _anywhere_. I ain't cleaning up your mess again."

Shrugging off his thick coat, Ace dumped it unceremoniously on the welcome mat, rushing off into the house, ditching his companions without second thought. Ze'ev looked over to find Edge smiling comfortably at the familiarity of this routine. He followed the husky's motions, more carefully taking off his hefty, warm coat and hanging it up on the rack beside the door.

Edge brought them to the doorway of the obvious living room. Perched on the far end of the couch was who Ze'ev reckoned was the girl Selene he'd been told about. On the floor, shuffling a deck of cards in nimble paws was Nika, who gave a displeased noise when Ace bumped into her. A bored looking raccoon was staring at his phone, sitting on the floor just like the Yellow Lab, back leaning against the plush couch.

"I was wondering if y'all would ever get here," Nika grumbled, setting down half the stack of cards and proceeding to rearrange the order of the second portion. "Carswell suggested Ace was the person who committed that murder last night, and that he took advantage of being alone with you and would end up killing you."

"I'm not sure he could take on both me and Ze'ev," Edge chuckled, claiming a spot on the couch, knocking into Nika in the process. In turn she did nothing but scowl at the deck in her paws.

Ace frowned exaggeratedly, the look coming off comically on his normally giddy muzzle. "Hey, wrong pronouns, Edge. _It._ The murderer is an _It,_ until stated otherwise. We must remain gender neutral, for no one truly got a good look at this person."

Edge beckoned Ze'ev forward, to move from awkwardly standing stock-still in the doorway, but it went unobserved by the wolf.

"It was a _he,_ " Ze'ev said certainly, staring pointedly at Ace. "The killer was a _he._ "

Ace blinked once, twice. The beaming smile returned. "Oh, suuuuuuure it was! And how do you know, mister It-was-a-he? Did you personally see, with your eyes, that It was a _he?_ "

Before Ze'ev could utter a single word about how, _yes, both he_ and _Edge were there at the scene right after the killing,_ the older husky cleared his throat, saying after he did so, "Ze'ev's just really particular about the whole pronoun thing. You know, like how everyone refers to things with femininity. Like, uh, with ships, the country, or . . . those kind of things?"

From the opposite end of the couch, Selene laughed, the sound lighthearted and peppy. Carswell had peeked over his phone, staring at Edge in confusion, a look that spoke perplexity on numerous levels. Ace and the younger angel were wearing matching expressions, clueless as to what Edge was talking about. Choosing to ignore the trivial banter, Nika moved onto another stack of cards, a different brand, a different game, indifferent to the puzzling topic at hand.

Edge rolled his eyes. "You know, like . . . _She's_ a beautiful ship, or America worked hard for _her_ freedom, or . . . you get my point, right? Ze'ev's very picky about everyone selecting womanly -"

"Who is ready to be beat by the ultimate champion of UNO?" Nika intervened, sensing the beffuddlement increasing during Edge's strive to help them understand. "Because, I swear, if one of y'all don't emerge from your cocoons of defeat soon, I'm going to quit coming here entirely!"

Five minutes later, and Ze'ev was questioning even more how playing cards with Edge's mismatched gang of odd Earthens - minus one, who had called shortly after the game was set up on the coffee table in the center of the room saying that they couldn't attend due to not feeling well - was supposed to bring about the next stride in their life-and-death obstacle. Sitting directly next to his closest friend, the only person he fully trusted in the entire room, a frown was planted on his face.

For the second time since Nika had dealt the cards (the first round had sped by when she won in four simple moves, before they had each gotten a turn) Ace threw down his hand, claiming her victories were rigged ahead of time. The others caught up in a loud argument that consisted of raised voices, laughs, and annoyed sighs from everyone but the two dogs engaged in verbal fighting, Ze'ev turned to Edge.

"I fear this is not what I had in mind when you insisted this would aid in our pursuit of the dark spirit," Ze'ev mumbled, inhaling sharply. "Might you consider, perchance, letting me in on your master plan so I am not sitting here in confused turmoil?"

Edge snorted, but it did not draw the attention of the shouting dogs - including Carswell, who had sided with Ace - or Selene, who was trying to break up the fight before it escalated further.

"Ze'ev, you can drop the formality," he said, angling his cards away, as if the younger angel had intentions of cheating. "And as for the reason why I thought this would help us, I figured we'd do better socializing, seeing more people. Because, you know, if we are going to save the person under your guardianship, we have to _find_ them first, am I right?" Understanding dawned, and Edge found himself grinning at Ze'ev's reaction to his "master plan". "And we were supposed to be joined by another member of our group, but . . . well, that didn't turn out very as planned. We just have to remain optimistic that this Earthen will be found by us, before some _thing_ else reaches it."

Nodding in assimilation, Ze'ev turned away, glancing down at his own cards. A moment passed, of which Edge had tried to assist Selene, from across the table, calming the disagreement, and Ze'ev frowned.

"But if my charge is not on the premises," said Ze'ev slowly, "Then why are we continually engaging in this distraction, when we could very likely be on the trail of our foe?"

Cards flew in the air, thrown by an extremely bored Carswell, flitting through the air and crashing like paper planes, scattered over the living room carelessly. One landed on Ze'ev's head, clinging to the fur, uncomfortably prodding his erected ears. He was not amused, nor entertained in the least.

 **/ / \ \**

Trudging along the well-lit road, this particular ferret gave no care whatsoever about the unexplainable murder that roamed every local newspaper, every nearby district news station. If the death of the young teenager was unable to be explained and the native neighborhood inhabitants had not been told anything more about this case, he did not find it the pristine example of sincerity, did not see the storie's authenticity.

And the photos that had accompanied the brazen headlines had been grainy, blurred and faraway, taken from a distance. Only further proving that this was a scam by the desperate newsmen, grappling for a story that would attract more and more readers.

Denver, the ferret traversing alone on this lonely street at half-past nine, scoffed. Coming to a street corner, he looked up at the sky and the ever-falling flecks of snow as they rained upon him. Wrapping the scarf around his neck tighter against the furred skin and pulling his beanie cap over his exposed ears, he nearly laughed in ridicule over the desperation of the headlines. He just could not bring himself to believing the fabrication of the alarming story.

"Beside," Denver huffed, "If it were, indeed, true, then they would put more precaution out on the streets, more cops would be patrolling and making sure nobody gets ambushed by this killer."

"So you think that it isn't more than a falsehood, meant to rile everyone up in fear?"

Denver wheeled around, nearly plummeting to the ground in his haste to identify the voice behind him.

"Whoa, relax, it's just me," Cassidy lifted her head into the light, making her teasing smile visible and allowing his heart to start beating normally again. "Dog, after seeing the look on your face, I might just think that _you_ thought the story was actually real."

"You never know, do you?" he said to the Gingerbread pup, his tension slackening. While he had not necessarily imagined the news story to be fact, it was sort of a relief to have someone else nearby. "What are you doing out? I thought you and your family were having . . . I don't know, a reunion of sorts?"

"And you think I want to be around my five siblings, along with all the cousins and aunts and uncles and . . . yeah. Not really."

Cassidy joined him, their steps crunching the sludge that had barely melted during the slightly warmer daytime temperatures, only to refreeze the moment the hidden sun had fallen down the horizon.

A spring in her step, Cassidy turned he head to peer at him with inquisitive eyes. "They were really stretching for a captivating story today, weren't they? I mean, I would like to see if one person believed that nonsense."

"The way they described how they found the body," Denver recounted the words used verbatim, describing how no other bodily harm had come to the kid other than their eye sockets were empty, blood soaked and drizzling from the yawning holes. "Not to mention how someone anonymous made the call from the scene, fleeing long before the police arrived."

"It's all very difficult to find true."

He nodded in assent.

A gravelly growl from behind indicated that, perhaps, the two friends had been too hasty in their decision to not believe the warnings of that morning.

 **/ / \ \**

 **I really love Ze'ev's formality, though it will eventaully become normal as he gets adjusted to living on earth. Maybe. I like it too much, he may just keep it. XD GUYS, I HAVE FANART FOR THIS NOW AND I FEEL INVIGORATED AND PUMPED AND I MAY JUST WRITE THIS AND ANOTHER FANFIC FOR CAMP NANO WHOOOP WHOOOOP!**

 **Thank you for reading, constructive criticism is always welcome! And if anyone knows why I was laughing so hard over pictures of ferrets last night, I would be most grateful if you could tell me.**

 **-Firepower**


	7. Got a Photograph Dream on a Getaway Mile

**Ah, my friends. Camp NaNoWriMo is upon us. Which means I will be devoting my times and energy into Dear Gravity, along with plentiful other works. Hehe. Instead of taking a few days to complete this chapter, I basically wrote it in one day and dog... I feel as though my mind is split. I need to get in the habit of the Camp schedule again. XD**

 **Oh, and by the way, I think "tenebrosity" is my new favorite word. ;D**

 **/ / \ \**

He really wasn't tired, so what was the point of pretending to sleep? It would only waste time when he could be doing . . . something else. Therefore he was postponing sleep and roaming the halls of Edge's house in search for something to occupy his mind.

That was another problem with being here on earth: not having a specified job other than protecting his ward. Which he couldn't do. Not yet, at least. Not until this person was found, their location known and _then_ Ze'ev could spend his time in a manner that would not waste any time whatsoever. Because not only would he be doing what Edge did with Selene - as her guardian angel -, but in addition to sheltering them from the unwelcome demon creature, which was already building up to be no simple task.

As anticipated by the Timber Wolf, the visit with Edge's eccentric, slightly insane Earthen friends had resulted in no success furthering the search for Ze'ev's protégé. It had only brought about a mass amount of confusion and left him questioning why Edge would purposefully persist in the connections he had made with the group.

As much as Ze'ev was thankful for Edge's never-ending patience, his assistance and support during the continued search for Ze'ev's assigned Earthen, he truly wished the more experienced angel would take this mission as seriously as he was.

He had not found his charge.

There was a rampant demon on the loose.

The demon was after his charge.

He could not find the demon.

And _that_ was the main dilemma plaguing the angel, unaffected by the late hour of the night, silently getting lost in the walkways of Edge's simplistic house.

Somehow, while wandering around in no apparent direction, Ze'ev found himself in the kitchen, the slick countertops opening up before him. And directly in front of him, as if positioned purposefully, was the large white box that Edge had labeled the _fridge_ when he asked about it. Ze'ev had watched, dumbstruck, when Edge had pulled open the door and a gust of crystallized cold air had been released from its compacted prison, diminishing the comfortable warmth in the room by several degrees. While Ze'ev had shied away from the coldness, Edge hadn't seemed to notice the oddity of the machine spitting out winter-like weather, _indoors_.

Ze'ev's frown deepened. Thinking about it, he had not seen what was kept _inside_ the machine, his attention seized in focus over the blast of cold, and only knew that Edge brought out two cardboard boxes which he used to make dinner with (Ze'ev had not a single idea how he did that, how he cooked using the thick paper materials, putting them into the oven and pulling it out as two, completely-made dinners). And having not caught sight of anything else, questions began to build in Ze'ev's generally bored mind.

 _What_ was _being held captive by the monster of a contraption, other than cardboard boxes with the depictions of photoshopped food printed on the sides?_

And the longer he pondered about it, the more curious he became. And the more curious he became, the closer he stepped to the fridge. His steps were timid, prudent, but within five minutes he had inched his way to the the rectangle appliance. And now, sizing it up with determined eyes set in attentiveness, he felt sure that something else was being held inside of the monstrous machine. Something. _Something._

Ze'ev surveyed the surrounding area, searching for the exact door that would unlock the contraption. Finding it and pulling it open with caution, as slow and silently as possible, he was met with the same uninvited arctic flurry as before. But, in the midst of the cold and the darkness he had let his eyes grow accustomed to long ago, a blinding light blinked on from the top of the large machine, causing Ze'ev to jolt back in unexpected shock. The door was open enough to remain that way without being held in place, and the uncovered lightbulb secured into the ceiling of the fridge illuminated the surface of what he could perceive as shelves.

His jaw dropped open, eyes roving over the supplies withheld in this locker, this cold storage. It was like a house built for food, for that was what occupied the shelves. A house that definitely had no lack in air conditioning.

His attention snagged on a cardboard carton on the topmost shelf, an awkwardly shaped, brown cardboard holder with an alarming label that made his heart skip.

Printed in black and white ink on a glossy paper sticker was the depiction of a family of chickens; a rooster, a mother hen, and several baby chicks tagging along at their heels on a well-drawn farm. It was an illustration that was worth an award, in Ze'ev's opinion, but he was far too concerned to care about it at the moment. There would be time to observe it closer in admiration for the artist. Right now, he needed to save what he knew were baby chicks - still eggs, held in the flimsy container - by removing them from this frozen cooler.

Carefully, worried exclusively for the safety of the unhatched babies, Ze'ev grasped the box in his paws. He was only aware of keeping the carton steady, setting it gently on the counter so not to disturb the eggs that would become the next generation of chickens in this world, on this planet.

The door was left open, neglected and forgotten in Ze'ev's haste to check on the status of the eggs, to make sure they were not broken or in a state of death by freezing. The little light provided by the exposed lightbulb in the fridge allowed him to carefully inspect each egg in his paw, to insure that no cracks had been made by accident.

Not even five minutes later, after assuring himself that the eggs would come to room temperature by themselves, he turned his attention back to the wide-open frozen food shelter, scowling at it as if it were an archenemy.

"I wonder what else you're holding, what you're hoping to hoard until its sorrowful, frozen death?" Ze'ev whispered in contempt, shivering at the dropping temperature in the room.

And then he went forward, in rising hopes to save whatever else was being held against its will inside the ice cold, frigid prison. He briefly wondered why Edge would not know about what was going on in his own kitchen, and why he hadn't done something about it before now.

Maybe the machine had threatened to freeze Edge if he tried to do what Ze'ev was attempting. The thought of being frozen to death caused Ze'ev to only fleetingly question his decision to help whatever else resided on the shelves of the fridge.

 **/ / \ \**

 _Go to a therapist, they said. See a specialist, a psychologist taught how to straighten you out, make you a normal person again. Seek help. Talk it out. Oh, yeah, talking about what happened and what you're going through is the first step to getting better._

 _Getting better. As if he were sick._

 _Well, he_ was, _but in a way that no one could cure. He was sick in the way that torture beat down upon him constantly, the mental battle that raged with no sign of stop, no hope of ever ending. He was sick in a way that no one would understand, no one would care. They would think he was crazy, again. And that was the last thing he wanted. Let them believe he was a depressed, miserably sad, troubled soul all because of one accident years ago. But not crazy, not again, because then they would threaten to lock him up again. Put him somewhere -_ for his own safety, of course - _far from the light of the sun, trapping him forever, alone, stuck with the haunting ghosts and memories and fear._

 _He was doing just fine as it was._

 _So long as he could continue up the act of being_ perfectly fine _and force himself to_ believe it _, the situation would not escalate any further._

Well. Unsurprisingly, he had been horribly wrong. It had only gotten worse.

 _"Do you have any relations, any family?"_

 _Scout directed a cold stare at the woman seated across from him, the Calico with the emotionless voice and the unsympathetic green eyes, the brisk way she tapped her ballpoint pen against the clipboard in her paws annoying him to no end._

 _"No."_

 _The response didn't appear to be what she was looking for, and Scout knew it. He didn't know why he felt like helping her create a larger disdain for him, more out of a rebellious act as retaliation for making him attend these mundane meetings than anything._

 _He sighed and averted his eyes from her piercing, impatient gaze. "No, I don't. My mom left not long after I was born and we got too difficult for my dad to take care of, so he tried dumping us with our grandparents, our aunts and uncles, whoever he could. They hated him, so he was left with nothing else to do but ditch us in the city, on our own. Finally, we found a place to that was willing to let us stay for a while, an older lady who took pity on us. She died two years ago, but by then we could live on our own." He retold it as if it were a dull, ordinary story, with little feeling implanted in his words. "So, no. I don't have any family that I recall the names of."_

 _"That's alright," she said tactically, unimpressed. She looked down briefly at the papers pinned to the board. "We have an unlimited supply of families who are willing to let you stay in -"_

 _"I'm not staying with anyone," Scout said with venom that caused her to look up, a flicker of surprise crossing her furred face. "I'm an independent individual, I am over eighteen years old; I refuse to be assigned to live in codependency with some . . . some family that isn't of my own. Just because I do not have someone watching over me perpetually anymore does not mean I need someone to act in the same way. I am more than capable of living on my own, thank you very much."_

 _For the first time since the beginning of this meeting, the Calico gave the impression of another form of emotion, other than professionally disguised disfavor for her job, yet her voice was still thick with monotony. "Your age was not of worry to us, we are well aware that you are legally an adult and, by law, are allowed to live without any restriction or surveillance, but due to past consultations you have induced the belief that you are mentally traumatized by the accident, and that, if you were left without observation, it could lead to permanent mental illness and, or, self-harm. By living alone when before you had been dependent upon someone else in your daily life, the end result could be -"_

 _"You can assume anything, speak freely, and object my decision, but I am_ not _changing residence, nor will I accept anyone to chaperone me in my day-to-day living," his expression had darkened, practically growling as he spoke through clenched teeth. "I thank you for your time, but I certainly do hope this is the last we see of each other."_

 _He had no heed for being rude. He did not care if he insulted the so-called professional. He could not find it in him to hold any more patience for her, or for anyone who assumed they could jump in and control his life, place him anywhere they wanted as if he was merely a pawn._

 _Of course, that had not been the last time he had heard from her or others, who "just wanted to help". But he never stopped turning them away, pushing aside the questions and avoiding answers, keeping to himself mostly. Never speaking about it to anyone. And eventually, they did drop the subject entirely. When he had "proved" himself stable enough to command his own life._

 _So he never told anybody_ anything.

 _Even when the hallucinations started._

Staring up at the ceiling, Scout couldn't bring himself to close his eyes. Not when he knew what would happen, when every night he dreaded this exact moment, when the terrors overtook his sleeping mind and tormented him.

It was always most unpleasant at night.

He blinked, and though the action only lasted for a mere second, when his eyes widened again, visions had crept out from the depth of the shadows, lazily formed apparitions promising ceaseless agony.

Turning back to the unlit ceiling, the only light coming distantly from behind blackout curtains, he made a stronger effort to avert his thoughts from what they, without fail, returned to.

 _The city's murderer had struck again, this time killing two well-known neighborhood residents who had been traversing alone on the street the previous night. There were still no reported leads on the suspect, and everyone was becoming weary of traveling outside of their houses later on in the evening, the fear was beginning to rise of what could possibly happen should people not stick together in groups._

 _No one had answers to the questions asked. No one knew for sure if the killer had an accomplice. No one knew a single thing about the case._

Scout drew in a deep breath, his mind scrambling for a way to subdue the monsters prowling closer to where he lay, unprotected and defenseless.

 _"Why aren't you dead?"_

 _Scout trembled, the voice reaching him in a rumble that caused him to freeze in place, become as motionless as a statue. He didn't know if there would come a time that the ghostly voice became something he was accustomed to, something that did not bring on dread that caused his heart to drop._

 _He swiveled around slowly, wide-eyed at the shimmering phantom staring at him with a blank expression, fading in and out as if to confirm the fact that this was no more than Scout's imagination building upon his unconfessed problems and generating into . . ._ this.

 _"Why aren't you dead, with me?"_

 _He bit his lip, repeating to himself over and over that this was figment of his imagination, that this was no more real than it had been last time. And the time before that. And prior to that._

 _"I'm lonely. I miss you. Why aren't you dead with me?"_

 _The ghost spoke simply, with an edge of longing tinged in his voice. As if being dead, together, was a habitual routine, something that occurred ordinarily._

 _The sentence,_ I miss you, _had more sorrowful emphasis than Scout wanted to believe was just his perception._

 _"Why did you leave me? We promised to stick together, forever."_

 _He wanted to scream, to tell_ him _that he wasn't the one who had chosen reality to end up like this. All he had ever longed for was_ his _everlasting presence, a sense of security from the only person who had ever provided it for him. The only person who he had ever cared about as much as they endlessly loved and cared for him._

 _But he couldn't say that. Not when it_ was _his fault that they were separated._

 _Not only because he had been in the driver's seat, at the wheel when they wrecked, when the world flipped and life became as complicated and destructive as the crashed vehicle._

 _But also because he refused to -_

Scout jerked into an upright posture, breathing heavily. He felt the sensation of penetrating eyes following him, puncturing his every other thought and prompting his heart to pound harder. He knew without even glancing around the room into the tenebrosity darkness that he was not alone.

Not alone, but this was not the same as being haunted by the familiar specter. This was a new phantasm, more of a shadow of obscurity than a painfully familiar face. It morphed into a hazy figure that could have resembled just about anything, that had no exact shape but became more solid than the nightly darkness in the bedroom.

Again, Scout shut his eyes tightly. But red eyes appeared on the new delusion when his vision focused. Red, devilish eyes as brightly colored as a rose, the exact color of blood, unblinking.

His mouth was dry suddenly, his heart rate accelerated, and he couldn't move as _it_ \- the _thing_ \- stalked closer, creeping on silent feet that seemed to drip such a deep shade of blackness with every step it took. Scout could have sworn he heard an evil, wicked chuckle roll like uneven waves of the sea, a current holding death threats and poisonous secrets.

It was like being trapped in a dream, one of the many he had very occasionally. Almost every night. But he could not move. He was paralyzed by fear, the red flags waving madly and flashing in his sight. Crippling consternation, fright that felt like needles poking through his skin, panic searing as blinding as the crimson eyes.

Breathing had been taken for granted, he realized it as soon as it became _impossible_ to. He had forgotten how to think straight, couldn't remember how to get his lungs to expand and allow air to flow freely.

A step in his direction, small and leisurely, as if the demonic, hellish illusion had all night to spend horrifying Scout, suffocating him, strangling him without even having to lay a hand down.

Mounting alarm kept him rigid, still as a stick, debilitated. He. Could. Not. Do. _Anything._

He was going to die. No, no - worse than dying. He didn't know, for sure, what would be worse than dying. All he knew for certain was that this . . . this shadow creature was ten times worse than any thoughts that had previously afflicted him. The harm that could ensue when it reached him was unimaginable.

Certainly his brain couldn't have conjured up _this._

 _This_ was real. Horribly real.

A foot away. Ten inches. Five. Moving an inch at a time, skulking to the empty corner of the room Scout was trapped in - he had no recollection of ever leaving the bed in his immobilization, and yet there he was, backed into it with no hope of escaping.

A strangled gasped came from the husky when the solid shadowed form reached for him. The sound was like a crack of thunder to his ears, yet no more than a hiss in actuality.

It felt as though something wrapped around his throat, but he couldn't look down to inspect it. His eyes were stuck on the monster's. It had no face, no mouth or nose or _anything._ It was just two boring red eyes surrounded by misshapen dark that was incomprehensible to the human eye.

Or maybe he _was_ going to die.

He couldn't hold on much longer. He had no ability to fight against it, no possible way to avoid the impending doom. He could feel himself growing weak from the lack of oxygen, barely registered the faceless eyes growing nearer and nearer until they were right there . . .

A growl broke through the deafening silence.

Whereas Scout could not face the source of the interrupting noise, continually trapped under the threatening peril of the monster's incomplete, towering shape, drowned in a sense of hopelessness and inability to breathe or blink, the shadow broke the deadly stare. It's attention now diverted, he was staring into the deepest black ever envisioned, briefly leaving him with the fleeting thought, _is this possibly only a dream?_

He had already resigned himself, long before he was caught in a far corner of the bedroom, that this was _not_ a sickening realistic rendition of his twisted mind. No fake hope could be held out that he had, indeed, been mistaken in his delusional state.

Looming above like a darkened skyscraper, the creature responded with an unearthly rumble of its . . . throat? Something that resembled a growl, but was far too deep and low and scratchy to come off as normal.

This _thing_ was not normal, by any means.

From the corner of his eye, where faded black was tugging him down into an inky abyss, the edges of something glowing dimly silver shimmered, a faint difference in the previously unlit room.

As though it were a jovial game planned, the throaty sounds were shared back and forth, rumbling sounds that sent a shudder through Scout. The distant silver grew closer, no more than a sparkling fog in his clouded eyesight, but now the rustic blackness had crept in and overtaken most of his line of sight.

Red eyes - the ones that had pierced through his skin and into his soul before becoming distracted by the growl from across the room - flashed back to him, but the feeling of breathless, suffocating shadows retracted and, _finally,_ the monstrous phantasm drifted away. The distinct smell of burnt rubber mixed with the iron tang of metal remained when the mesmerizing smoke turned into a wisp.

And then it was gone, and Scout could once again breathe, though the action took force he didn't feel capable of.

 **/ / \ \**

He had meant no harm embarking on his late night escapade, his determined attempt to save the hopeless from a situation that was far too large for them to fix alone. Nor had he expected to find himself far away from the house not twenty minutes into his search for the helpless beings that had, apparently, tried in vain to escape their miserable fate.

You see, all he had wanted to do was help. And by help, that meant for him to rescue not only the eggs he found on the top shelf of the of the fridge, but everything else that appeared to have once been alive, or that was, currently, in a state of being frozen in time. It was his duty to protect the defenseless, and though on earth he had not been much assistance to anyone, he felt this was a redeeming turn in that case.

What all he had found, he removed it and placed the items on the counter in an organized line. After scouring the bottom section of the fridge, the shelves nearly stripped of all supplies, he had moved to the _even colder_ area, the upper half to the dangerous cooler box. It had been a very good thing he had, for located there was a bag of frozen chicken, featherless, the skin exposed and tiny icicles pointing like daggers, yet not strong enough to break the plastic bag holding them.

As soon as he had exited the little square of light made by the exposed lightbulb inside the fridge, with all intentions of returning as soon as he moved the bag of chicken to safety, a tingle of warning ran down his spine. It had been the only preparation before the view of the kitchen around him changed, transforming in the time it took to bat an eye, changing into an empty hallway that appeared different than Edge's.

Confused, Ze'ev pivoted around, searching for the spot of light to orient himself. It was not to be seen behind him, nor anywhere around the corridor surrounding. Huffing, he set the frozen bag on the ground, marching forward while he struggled to come up with an understanding for what was happening.

The tingling had retreated, but in its place, a certain _knowing,_ a heightened _alarm,_ bells rang through his head. From the base of his wings he could practically feel were glowing, in their stage of visibility, uncloaked for the entire world to witness, a rush of adrenaline spread outward, the exact feeling he had been hit with on the night of the first killing.

The first, and so far _only,_ night he and Edge had seen the supernaturally dark spirit.

Instinct guided his paws down the hall, as if he had memorized this exact course and had taken it numerous times before. Intuition, he relied on it to lead him to where he needed to be.

Though fully alert and already mentally braced for anything that could be thrown at him, it barely registered that he had pushed open a door that branched off into a separate room. With little hesitation, he stepped into the room with a snarl on his face, a warning already emitting from his throat.

He could see through the midnight, the dulled shades of nighttime no match for his inhuman eyes. And what he could see was not precisely what he wanted to see.

A quick scan of the room resulted in bare emptiness, the covers on the single bed wrinkled, but not pulled back. A lamp had been knocked from its resting place on top of a stand beside the bed. A glimpse of someone in the corner farthest away from him. In front of them, however, was the dreaded demon of the first night killing, when Ze'ev had dragged Edge into the late night snow, only to find the dead body and catch sight of the demonic entity.

He knew right away that something was off in the demon's energy, the pressence wasn't as raging and strong as it had been before, but it was _there,_ nevertheless. And no matter the strength of the beast, he had to do something - anything in his power to keep it from endangering the Earthen.

He felt spirited by an inner glowing, knowing that, without Edge's help, he could probably take out the beast with only a little trouble, or at least manage to get the Earthen to safety and alert Edge of the problem. In fact, his wings were reflecting his burst of confidence, and when the creature turned to face him, snarling, Ze'ev reciprocated the oh-so-friendly sound. He moved forward, but a sensible thread of thought was telling him that if he got too close, too suddenly, it would only inevitably incur the wrath of the soulless monster upon the trapped person.

Lowering himself into a fighting stance, curling his lip back to reveal sharp teeth and letting his wings stretch out as a protection around him, he searched for a plan that would ensure safety for the Earthen and defeat in the creature. His eyes were ablaze with loathing, and had his eyes been fire, the demon would have been burned to a crisp.

He gave another low growl, and with a final flash of the bloody eyes, it turned away, staring down at the person on the floor, and then began to dematerialize, such as it had done before, when Ze'ev and Edge showed up at the scene of the first murder.

Ze'ev did not step forward, unsure as the moments passed if the demon was still _there,_ or if, as it appeared, had vanished into thin air, leaving only a trace of what had been life or death threatening just seconds ago.

And now, with his view now cleared enough to see the Earthen, he dropped his guard entirely. Crouched in the corner, eyes still pinned directly on where the creature had stood, was, for absolute certain, _his assigned charge._

 **/ / \ \**

 **I hope this chapter wasn't too confusing? I was struggling to think last night and early this morning when I edited it. If you find anything wrong, don't hesitate to inform me! :D (Please do not question why this is a story with only animals/Webkinz and yet I am writing about frozen chicken and eggs. Heh. Heh. Heh.)**

 **Tornado warnings do not stop me from writing - while everyone was rushing around, I was sitting here. Writing. And laughing, because I would totally do what Ze'ev did if I was in his case. XD**

 **-Firepower**


	8. I Don't Believe In You (Only the Enemy)

**(alternate chapter title, which was too long for the website: If You Look In The Mirror and Don't Like What You See, You'll Find Out First Hand What It's Like To Be Me. ... See? Super long. XD *laughs like crazy because, of course, that's an MCR song lyric*)**

 **I think I am confusing myself by writing this the way I am. If you find the way I write confusing as well, just know that you aren't alone. Ah, I'm not even sure if I like this chapter. It's not the best, and it was taking me forever just to get halfway through writing it. Going back and checking for grammar took me ages, too. Hehe.**

 **But I certainly do hope you enjoy! (good luck figuring out this chapter. Even** _ **I**_ **am left beffudled over it. Lol. XD)**

 **/ / \ \**

There was no exact measurement of time known to either for how long they stood there, Scout far in the corner and unable to remove his fixed stare from where the gripping shadow had previously rendered him powerless against its inhumanly conduct, Ze'ev across the length of the room, making no move to draw attention to himself.

He found his charge. Correct.

The demon had been about take his soul, and more than likely kill him. Right. He already knew that.

But now . . . what was he to do next? He had not been told precisely how to approach one after a horror as such had transpired, nor did any prominent instinct arise at first glance. And, standing there motionless, Ze'ev was greatly wishing he would have thought to inquire about situations such as this one.

Did he introduce himself to the unmistakably shaken Earthen in the corner as one of his own, or as what he truly was, an angel? Saying that he was one of the standard, ordinary people on earth would more than likely raise questions as to _why_ he was in a house other than his own, _how_ he had managed to enter without first receiving permission to do so, _what_ was he doing here in the first place . . .

He did not see how stating he was an angel would help this case, either, for _that_ would most certainly bring about uncertainty, confusion, and a barrage of questions as well, some that Ze'ev was not even sure he would be allowed to answer. He knew very well that Edge, with Selene, was under disguise and no one who resided on this planet, who was not another spiritual being sent down from _up above,_ knew about his actual form, nor who he honestly was. The older angel had not told a single soul, and perhaps there was a reason? Was Ze'ev not supposed to inform his charge, who had just been attacked by a fiendish demon moments prior, that he was here to protect him from any further instances, to keep him safe from any harm that sought him out? Should the secret remain clandestine, should he leave now in hopes that his assigned Earthen would awake the next morning, believing this was no more than a disturbingly warped dream?

He already had a list of questions he planned to interrogate Edge with when he was once again back at the house somewhat familiar to him (meaning not-at-all-familiar, but more so than the one he was currently in).

Something else of equal importance was badgering at him through his frantic thoughts and useless mental pleads for the dog in the corner to stay turned away, the realization that his wings were still on full-show, for just anybody to see. Should his charge turn at this moment, he would undoubtedly witness for certain what Ze'ev's true form was. And if that was opposite of the goal, if he and his information were to remain undisclosed to anyone not of his specified kind and those against him, the angels, and the Earthens, then showcasing his wings would not help that exemplification.

But how else was he to explain how he had entered the house, through travel of some invisible connection between he and his designated person?

Would the dog, who had hardly even blinked in the time of the disappearance of the demon, believe anything he had to say?

Ze'ev wished he had come more prepared, but since he did not exactly have time to compose a plan, or himself for that matter, he did not have the answers to his urgent questions.

In that case, since it was very much contrastive to what he was decisively positive Edge dealt with when first making the acquaintance of Selene, what harm could it do to pronounce candidly who and _what_ he undeniably was?

It could have been the span of two minutes or two hours in which Ze'ev's inner questioning warred at both sides of his brain, but the moment he dreaded arrived too soon - from the far corner, the Earthen finally blinked, long and slow as if the movement was done underwater and the action was restricted by sedated limitation, and gradually turned, his clouded, darkened eyes gradually landing on him.

Gulping, Ze'ev hoped that he appeared more persuasive as an agent from _up above_ , less of an diffident person playing at a position he was unfit for. If he was going down tonight, lost and trapped in the confusion and disbelief of what he was defied by the unbelieving Earthen, he would go down with as much proof as he could convey to convince the truth.

But instead of appearing confounded by his presence, as Ze'ev had envisioned, the dog seemed frightened for a split second, before sculpting it into fatigue and unexpected acceptance.

"Two hallucinations in one night?" he laughed humorlessly, his voice rough from unuse. "Well, what is the special occasion?"

Ze'ev was baffled to say in the least how quickly his charge greeted him, on their first meeting, writing him off as no more than his mind playing tricks on him. As if the demon had been no more than a twisted, delusioned dream. How unaffected he was by occurrences such as these, how he simply did not question it.

"What have you come to inconvenience me with this time? More innocent accusations, questions that have no answers, that only bring about more guilt? Go ahead, I apparently have all the time in the world."

Listing his head to the side, pushing aside the worry about wings and declaration of true guise, Ze'ev's perplexity doubled. Did he believe the angel was here to absolve some form of blame upon him? Was he not fazed by the sudden, questionable apparition of a wolf, standing unwelcome in his house, with wings and a glowing semblance?

With nothing else to do, since he had no hope of following the makeshift plan he had jumbled together, to leave and assume the dog would give credence to a nightmare for what he experienced during the late evening, he decided to be forthright. Blunt as possible, without divulging _everything._

"I am Ze'ev, an angel that has been sent to -"

With a scoff that halted Ze'ev's explanation mid-sentence, the husky pushed himself off the floor, avoiding direct eye contact. "I don't need an introduction, thank you very much. I could care less as to who, or what you are." Visibly shaken, from, Ze'ev inferred, the assault with the demonic specter, the dog started over in his direction. He was facing away and refusing to look at him. "All I _need_ is for you, and every one of these . . . these _ghosts_ to just go _away._ Leave me alone. Give me some peace. I'm tired of - no, I'm tired of _everything._ I _know_ you're nothing but a monster I've created in my mind, so you can quit now."

To say that Ze'ev did not grasp the exact understanding would be an understatement. He wanted to speak more, to say something that would change his charge's perception that he was not, in fact, just another one of his mind games, nor was the dark, shady phantasm that Ze'ev had cast away. He was real, genuine, and it was very, _very_ important that, of all Earthens who lived in this world and lived and breathed, his protégé realized that.

But his assigned ward was gone, out of the room before Ze'ev had a chance to speak again, to corroborate his true existence. He felt it extremely important to do so, even if it meant disclosing his verifiable form. He spun quickly, his intention to immediately follow him through the unknown regions of his house - if that is what it took to bring about the belief of his authenticity - but he was met with a gaping fridge, open before him.

It took an abnormal amount of time to register that he had been sent back, distanced from the person he had been searching for since the moment he had been deposited upon the earth's surface. He had, at last, found who he was meant to protect, to guard and keep safe over with his own life, who he was to shelter from all harm . . . and not only was he now separated from them again, but he was thought to be a vision of the mind, _not real._

From behind him, someone cleared their throat and Ze'ev whirled around, coming almost face-to-face with an amused Edge. From the splinters of exposed light that weren't obstructed by Ze'ev's shadow, he could see Edge glance around the room, clearly unsuspecting, but unsurprised.

He licked his lips before peering at Ze'ev with a frown. "Might you enlighten me as to why half my fridge's contents have been emptied onto the kitchen counter?"

 **/ / \ \**

Normally they were wherever he was. They would glide along, appearing everywhere he turned, and if not directly in his line of sight, always staying in the corner. He could see flashes of the luminous, semitransparent ghosts in his peripheral vision, though anymore it wasn't the sight that startled him _as much._ It was when they began speaking, when the voice did not sound completely as though it were their own, coming from the source of their mouth, but rather from extensive depths of his very own mind.

The shadows always followed him, breathing on his neck or whispering accusations that left him in a snarled tangle of culpability, a hatred for not only the detestable voices or phantoms that were an almost-constant disturbance, but a vast loathing for _himself._

Yet, the hallucination had not chased after him, had not tracked him down after Scout had abruptly left the room. He didn't put much thought on the matter until he was locked away in the safest, most closed and secure place he could find, since his personal bedroom was not much of a fortified safe space anymore. Still, after flicking a single light switch on the panel fastened to the wall, he had not recovered from the full effect _both_ hallucinations had cast on him.

The first was something he had not yet experienced, it was a new phenomenon that had been the most dreadful; the terror it struck froze him from breathing, thinking, reacting, and not only had it stopped his heart, but it had clutched at it, with talons of both burning ice and fiery flames. He sensed a coldness seize him all over, all his independent, freethinking thoughts and feelings and replacing them with a blank slate of furious animosity. He did not control himself, and he was _not himself._ He was an embodiment of something _else,_ his body was merely a shell for something darker, corrupt and despicable. Simply just a carrier for something more important - for all the wickedly wrong reasons - and he had no option but to be a disposable asset for this phantasm.

And the most horrifying prospect was that this could all possibly be Scout's mind, conjuring up delusions and night terrors, devilish creations that dismissed his pleads to _go away. Leave him alone. Just_ stop.

To have the second apparition pop up instantly following the first, he felt far too alienated from reality to care about it. So long as it did not hinder him from escaping the confined, imprisoned room, did not prolong his most recent torture or attempt to suffocate or drown him in self-contempt. And it hadn't. Few words passed between them, but Scout had not exactly _been in the mood_ to carry on a hospitable conversation with the specter.

No amount of steadying in the world would ever calm him anymore. He sat, enclosed in the locked bathroom, his head hanging, his eyes shut tight against the brutality of the world. _His_ world. Finally, with a sad resolve that he was never going to stabilize himself again, he lifted his head and stood, his legs as shaky as before, if not ten times more. He could feel the stiffness, like the paralysis had not fully worn off, a numb that extended through all his limbs and felt ready to buckle underneath him at any given moment.

His head traveled upward, his eyes catching on the reflective mirror, the shocking image staring back at him. His every move, from a shift of position or a tight grasp on the counter to keep from falling, was paralleled, his disbelief echoed right back at him.

If anything, _he_ looked like a ghost now. His appearance was rugged from days of little to no sleep, from keeping constantly, vigilantly alert at all times, from the inability to fight off what pulled him away from living what most people saw as a normal life. For him, it was something desired and valuable, something that too many people took advantage over. It was what he had, before the wreck, what used to be taken granted for in his life of perfect happiness. Ordinary life, what he could never hope for. What would never happen for him.

He was too far gone.

Standing before the mirror, he wasn't very different from an actual ghost.

 _"Legend has it, your reflection in the mirror is truly an evil twin of yourself, who died when you were so young that you don't remember it."_

 _Scout, standing on a step-stool in order to reach the height of the bathroom sink and counter, stared incredulously in amazement and disbelief over the possibility of the 'true' fact. His jaw dropped open and he tore his gaze from the taller person beside him to the reflective surface, only barely seeing the tips of his eyes due to his unimpressive size._

 _"And if you find yourself staring at the mirror past midnight, they will see you and crawl through to hunt you down and snatch you up! And then you'll be gone, just like that! Done like a cake in the oven!"_

 _Scout was raptured by the tale, and considered every word honest, no question about it. It would be the beginning to a month long of near-sleepless nights, refusals to even step foot in the bathroom unless every single mirror - including his favorite, purple handheld one - had been sheathed protectively._

Ghosts weren't real. That phrase had been repeated countless times during his life, it was a constant cycle of changing beliefs. As a young kid, ghosts stories were very much fact and concrete. As an early teenager, they were nothing more than myths that brought about the occasional spook, a rush of tingling excitement and pleasant suspense. And now, where he was in his torn apart, deranged, demented life . . . they were as real as the breath he breathed.

 _"Ghosts aren't real, silly."_

 _The affirmation did little to console him. He had tucked himself in the farthest possible spot on his bed, crammed in the corner of the wall and the backing of his bottom bunk of the doubled bed. His intentions at first, when he had started by scooted farther and farther away from the open drop-off onto the floor, fear encroaching like the darkness around the bedroom, had been to push away all the fright of the imaginary spirits. Eventually, with those thoughts, it had brought about_ more, _and he had barely been able to squeak out a frantic call for help before diving into his hiding corner, shudders of fear darting up and down his body._

 _And sure enough, the only person who he expected to have heard him jumped bravely down from his appointed bed atop Scout's, and a flashlight beam was shone in his direction. Knowing who was shining it at him, and judging from the frenzied, concerned heavy breathing, Scout had awoken him by his near-silent gasp._

 _"Scout? Scout, what happened? What's wrong? Please, talk to me?"_

 _Scout released a whimper, a small cry when his fears of faceless ghosts manifested with the darkness of his tightly shut eyes._

 _"Scout . . . Scout, is this because of the story I told you last week?"_

 _A barely perceptible nod followed a bout of quivering, and a huff of both relief and baffled unsurprise came from behind him._

 _The bed shifted when the other person sat, his company barely easing Scout's worries any more than the words he was about to speak did. "Honestly, Scout, that was a_ week ago. _How many times have I told you, it's_ not _true. It's just a myth, it's simply fictional; it isn't real." Scout did not respond. "Come on, buddy. You trust me, right?"_

 _"They are real!" Scout sniffled, shaking at the release of a petrified sob. "I saw them, behind the door!"_

 _"Scout, the door is closed."_

 _"But . . . but now, too!"_

 _"We've been over this. Ghosts aren't real."_

 _"Yes, they are!"_

 _No amount of solace was going to change the conviction the false story held over Scout's head. He was stubborn. He had trusted_ him _too much in this instance, he had hung onto every word spoken as if it were life dripping from a dropper and he was accepting it, memorizing every word and placing it close to his heart - too close. And this was the wrong thing to take for real. But how was a six year old supposed to realize that?_

 _"Scout, please, can't you just listen to me on this one? There is no such thing as ghosts. It's your imagination getting the best of you. Kind of . . . kind of like a battle. The fear of ghosts is on one side, and on the other, valiant courage. You just have to choose which side you are joining, who you are going to aid in winning the war."_

 _Scout's trembling slowed, scarcely visible in the steady beam of the flashlight still showing no deviation from its consistent fix on the young dog. This was the all the cue needed to continue._

 _"And if you choose the side that is scared of what isn't real, the ghosts, then every single night you won't be able to sleep because of it. And if you don't sleep, you're too tired to do things with me._ Fun _things." At this, Scout peeked out from underneath the cushions and piles of covers, his attention temporarily distracted from the problem at hand. "And if you want, you can sleep with me for the night. We can keep the flashlight on, too, just in case you get scared again."_

 _It took a few minutes more of convincing before Scout finally left the only safe location in the darkened room he could manage to find. Weighing the options of the course of actions, coming to the conclusion of the choice of being accompanied in sleep with someone as close as_ he _was, who he trusted over all people to protect him and keep him safely guarded from all the ghosts and nightmares._

 _"Just one pro'lem," Scout muttered when he had withdrawn from his tight corner. "Your bed is high." This quiet announcement could only be heard by who was near him, and the older dog by his side gave a low chuckle._

 _"I forgot about your fear of heights. Sorry."_

 _Scout had fallen asleep shortly after that event, on his own bunk, but close to a warm body, loving arms holding him close to project a protection against all entities that unsettled him._

Those innocent days, so pure and unproblematic. With someone to put faith in, a being who could stand beside him, who could, once again, make things brighter than the shadow his life had fallen into.

 _"It's okay, Scout. Ghosts aren't real."_

 _"Promise?"_

 _"I promise."_

 **/ / \ \**

It had been harder to get Edge to understand the situation when he was still reeling over the actuality that, over the course of the time he had set apart in his late night escapade particularly for rescuing the helpless objects in the fridge, he had found his allocated charge. He was quite absentminded when Edge had struggled to keep his cool, reciting his question continuously several times:

 _"...why half my fridge's contents have been emptied onto the kitchen counter?"_

When Ze'ev had answered, still momentarily distrait, the elder angel had expressed his annoyance by turning away, facing the meticulously categorized and grouped arrangement of half-frozen foods.

Ze'ev glanced around where he stood in place, heaving a sigh of little woe at not seeing the bag of frozen chicken laying about. "Oh."

" "Oh", what?" Edge asked, scrutinizing the meats to establish those who had been far from frozen temperatures too long to count as safe, to guarantee that those which appeared visibly unscathed were deemed fine to keep. "What _else_ did you do tonight, Ze'ev? Wait, let me guess; you freed the clothes from their detention in the dryer?"

Had Edge not brought that to Ze'ev's awareness, he would have given an accurate answer. But now his thought process was filled with new fret for these incapable, powerless clothes, stuck in what was called a _dryer._ Then were these items - clothes - required to persist in remaining wet? And if so, were coats considered clothing as well? Why would one purposefully dampen something that was meant to dispose of the cold and the wet, be it rain or snowfall?

"Ze'ev, don't even think about it," Edge grumbled, dividing the containers, boxes, and cartons of food into seemingly unrelated stacks. "It's late. _Too_ late, to be doing _this._ Now, before I either explode into a bunch of unpleasant yelling or fall into a silence _promising_ the loud yelling tomorrow morning when I feel more awake, please apprise me on why you aren't asleep? And what are you doing in the kitchen, of all places? I hope your explanation includes the justification of ruining more than half of the frozen food, because I would certainly _love_ to know."

Shrugging halfheartedly, Ze'ev stepped away from the lighted square of flooring, dimly aware that the freezing gust of air had greatly diminished from the cooler, the monstrous unit containing the unprotected _food,_ as Edge stated so impassively, like this was not an exigent plight that needed to be dealt with swiftly, promptly. No delay. And that was what Ze'ev had done; wasted no time in the procedure he adopted to deal with the problem.

"I really did not think I would have to write you out, word by word, a guidebook for your life here on earth," groused Edge through a half-yawn. "Ze'ev, you're an _angel_ from _up above;_ you would think that, as a supernatural, unearthly being, you would have _some_ form of simplistic understanding of what to do and what _not_ to do _down here._ "

"I was not provided with these superficial details, and that is why I follow your guidance and the significant counsel that is beneficial to my proficiency of Earthens and their diurnal life," Ze'ev said practically.

He received an insolent scoff and no vocalized response for a silent moment of Edge's slow-paced sorting, depositing the food in an array of _dispose_ or _keep,_ retaining the tidiness of Ze'ev's original stacks. "If you truly did follow my advice or instruction, you would not have gone about ruining a week's worth of food, now would you?"

"You are housing a mutant, disguising as a helpful method of storing something for future use, but in reality it is nothing more than hazardous contraption constraining faultless forms of life - such as the eggs."

Edge shook his head but added no comment - other than a extensive stare that spoke volumes of question - returning back to his long, tedious job.

Surveying him work was not the most stimulating event of the night, seeing as how it did not come close to comparing when set against the other _incidents,_ yet it gave him a fine amount of time to reflect upon what _had_ happened in the time span of that late evening. Nearly morning.

Though Edge grumbled and complained about the matter currently, Ze'ev suspected he would later thank him for saving the items he had retrieved from the fridge. It had been the quickest process of safe measurement available at the time, and he did not waste the opportunity.

Ah, and then there had been the short time of this midnight exploit when he had traveled through a mental link, a bond of protection and guardianship he held over his issued Earthen. When, for the brief period of time provided, he had saved the person from the demonic essence and been disregarded as a fellow creature, a trick of the mind.

"I located my ward."

"That's great, Ze'ev," Edge said, distractedly. "Why don't you ask _them_ to sort out the rest of this food?"

Ze'ev's brow furrowed as he stared, clueless, at his friend. "But I do not know their whereabouts strictly. How shall I contact them and request their assistance in this endeavor?"

"It was a joke. I was being sarcastic." He paused a moment later. "Wait, what did you just say?"

"I asked, how shall I contact -"

"No, no, before that."

"I said, I located my ward."

Edge turned around with less abrupt speed than Ze'ev imagined this announcement would call for, but did not ask about it when the other angel faced him with stunned surprise. Confusion.

"And how did you manage to complete both that and _this mess?_ " Edge asked incredulously, throwing his paws up in air to demonstrate his disbelief. He inhaled deeply, restoring his normally calm features, staring pointedly at Ze'ev and only him - not the slowly thawing freezer contents, not the still-ajar fridge, only the Timber Wolf. "Alright, Ze'ev. Okay. You found your charge during whatever time you had in between protecting the food from it's imperatively necessary frozen _home._ Good job. Would you kindly tell me _who_ this person is, and without using words that will undoubtedly have me frantically scanning the dictionary to make sense of this conversation afterward?"

Ze'ev nodded, disapproving only of the way he would have to alter his speech, before answering slowly, carefully, "I got transported to a different house while on my chosen duty that included rescuing a bag of killed, plucked, and ruthlessly chopped yard bird, with a sense of importance conducting me by means of nothing more a sensation of urgency. And when I found myself within the confines of the same room that the Earthen under my guardianship was, I discovered that we were not alone, by any means, but rather adjoined by the exact dark spirit of several nights ago. Bringing about cognition of my presence to the beast, who was making the attempt to overwhelm and command the human individual, was enough force to drive it away before I had the chance to eradicate it."

"And how did your charge react to your sudden appearance?"

"Due to what I surmise from possible past experiences, he was not even vaguely stupefied, nor did he allow me to assert who I was, or what my commitment down on earth is, before retreating from the room and deserting me to return back . . . here."

The story would have seemed implausible had anyone else retold it to Edge. But as Ze'ev was the one narrating the proceedings of his _adventure,_ he had no reason of persuasion that this was not the truth. As absurd and unfeasible as the story was, judging from Ze'ev's earnest sincerity (as if the younger angel had any ability in his all-too-sensible manner to deviate from the genuine truth) it was no lie.

He had found his charge, just as Edge had assured him he would. Alas, at some irksome, godawful hour of the night.

"Did you recognize them from anywhere, have you seen them during your time around the town?" Edge thought it best to save all the questions mounting on the case of the demon's appearance until the minor details had been resolved. "Possible around the coffee shop or while we were walking . . .?"

Ze'ev shook his head, recounting back to the room, watching in hindsight again as the dog, _his charge,_ brushed past him with little care. He did not expect the first meeting to go as such, but he intended to adapt to what had happened and accept it, knowing that future meetings were ineluctable.

 **/ / \ \**

 **Ze'ev's speech is my favorite thing, as always, but it is taxing my brain. Honestly, I am only so high up in english, this is difficult. Hehehe, lol. I hope that wasn't too confusing! I do not anticipate this story surpassing 15 chapters at most, but the end is not near yet, either. I truly cannot guess how long this will end up, depending on what ideas come to mind during the writing of future chapters. Who knows? AND I DO BELIEVE I SHALL GO NOW.**

 **Thanks for reading, and please, don't hesitate to correct any problems with this chapter! *sips chocolate milk and blasts music***

 **-Firepower**


	9. Just Here For The Psych Assessment

**Look alive, Sunshine.**

 **(reposted due to wrong formatting.) After forever, I am finally adding another chapter! It hasn't been easy to write it - though when is it ever? - but I feel that I found myself in the mood of each scene as I wrote them, which was helpful. And I listened to Young and Menace far too many times, so kudos to that song for inspiring part of this. In a vague manner. Yeah.**

 **/ / \ \**

A grief counselor had been suggested to him, along with the therapists, though he had never visited one in person. He'd had a discussion across the phone with one when he purposefully skipped far too many scheduled meetings with these so called "professionals", though she had offered advice that was very little different from everyone else's opinion on his "situation". He had nodded along during the lengthy, rather boring conversation, though she could not see him, and once every few minutes he would roll his eyes despairingly up at the ceiling, glad that she _could not_ see his actions. He had not taken to heart anything she said, as he hadn't with the rest of the idiot-minded counselors, but now, of all circumstances, he found himself reflecting upon a tidbit of advice she had given.

 _"Don't isolate yourself away from the world, don't become reclusive. Sometimes it helps being around others to focus on something good rather than all that is bad."_

He had done just the opposite. He had locked himself behind a door to a house that was heavy with immeasurably painful memories, had stationed himself away from his closest friends, he rarely spoke to those who lived outside of the city, who were distant by miles upon miles . . . It wasn't that he _wanted_ to return to the relationship he had with his friends, years ago, for he knew that what had once been would never happen again. But in the midst of his mentality splitting, turning against him and creating monsters and torments for him to suffer through daily . . . a change, a solution needed to be decided upon.

He was losing his mind, yes. And, he knew, if he didn't do something _soon_ he would be overridden with these irrational, unimaginable horrors, forever held captive by the forces of his powerful, twisted mind.

This conclusion being drawn, when his phone screen blinked to life and a familiar name flickered up at him, he took a determined breath and accepted the call. Nowadays, calls were a scarcity, and greeting people in person - _communicating by means of actually_ talking _to them_ \- was done infrequently by him. He tended to be tenacious when it came to lingering at home, alone but for the ticking clock, the otherwise complete silence, the visions. Normally immovable from his antisocial shelter of a house, his voice was never prepared for speaking more than a handful of words at the time, and speaking to one direct person for over a minute was not an activity he particularly enjoyed to engage in often. Indeed, it was equally surprising for those on the other end of the line to have him accept the offer they proposed, to agree with plans that had been made with hopeful intentions to include him, but had been doubtful.

Later that evening, then. He would be going abroad, separating himself from the familiar confines of the walls that almost constantly surrounded him. Leaving the ghost-filled hallways, the surviving sensation of warm breath against his neck, the persisting voices that had him turning circles, clawing at his head in an attempt to just _silence them._ He would be meeting with those who he had known for such a short time span, in the sense of hardly ever seeing them other than in passing. Certainly he had a remaining friend or two from when . . . _he_ was still alive, from when the two of them had a crowd of friendly faces they saw almost every day, those who they could rely on through thick and thin. Those who knew how much the two of them - Scout and _him_ \- meant to each other. These specific people had been divided shortly after the accident, when Scout locked himself away, when he avoided _everyone._ And therefore these "new" friends, the ones who were only introduced to him and known by name, were going to be an entirely new start for him.

 _No_ , this was not going to be the official beginning of _anything._ The only time he was going to accept the company of others was when he needed to remain _sane._ He needed some sort of contact with others, to temporarily escape the haunting shadows and the painfully innocent yet fiercely accusing words of the creatures constructed by his brain.

Going out, to actually attend an informal meeting with _authentic, living and breathing_ _ **people**_ , was panic inducing, to say in the least. Hours before the time he was supposed to leave his house, he was already worked up in a frenzy of restless nervousness, the trepidation he was experiencing rose to levels normally matched by the night terrors. Shortage of breath, the inability to stop trembling, his thoughts scattered - though these were not uncommon for him.

How different he had been, back when his life was normal. Average, ordinary, typical by wonderful means. He was sociable, he had not a single fear of large clusters of people, even those who he did not know. Though he did not _prefer_ a large amount of friends when compared to a smaller group of closer, absolutely trustworthy and steadfast companions, he was not _terrified_ of _people._ Except for now - he was positively petrified. It wasn't exactly the _people,_ it was _himself._ He did not fit in, he had no relations to them or their life, had not a clue how regular conversations were held. He didn't know what it would be like to, even if it was only temporarily, forget about his life, the current state of disrepair it was in.

An hour left to go, second by each nerve-racking second, and he was already positive that he was going to cancel these plans. The world was closing in on him, the world was fading in and out, from the gloom of his still, empty house to a panicked cluster of dread and distress, red warnings flashing like strikes of blinding lightning.

 _"Where are you going?"_

Scout buried his head in his folded paws, atop the glossy, clear counter, inhaling sharply as his fur prickled with the sensation of another presence. Oh, nothing unusual, just the daily elegiac meeting with a ghost who held all too many painfully familiar features of someone long gone. Perfectly normal, quite expected.

 _"Where are you going?"_

Scout lifted his head and stared blankly at the back wall of the kitchen, eyes swimming with unfocus. "I'm getting _out._ I am making a vain attempt to get away from _you._ "

 _"Are you leaving me? Again?"_

 _Again._ Biting his lip so hard that he could have sworn he felt blood drip down his chin, Scout nodded. "Yep. That is precisely what I am doing."

 _"But why would you want to leave me?"_

He scoffed, the sound echoing in the room that would appear completely devoid of any other life to _anyone_ else, but bouncing around his head, matched by the low breaths and repeated phrases. "Because you're killing me."

 _"I do believe that you are the one killing yourself."_

"By listening - no, _believing_ \- in you, yes. That is how I am killing myself," Scout let his head fall back down in anguish. "I-I need to get away. From you, from everything. Otherwise, yes, I am killing myself."

 _"Why aren't you already dead, like me?"_

A wry laugh choked up from the back of his throat, and for a split moment this conversation played out in his mind, the same answers recited again and again. Questions asked that were identical to those already given, in past exchanges. "Because somehow I am idiot enough to believe that there is a reason to continue living."

 _"Are you not scared to walk this world alone?"_

"Oh, trust me, I have gotten over that fear . . . long before now," he paused, realizing how much of a lie that was. "I don't . . . I don't need . . ." Letting out a frustrated sigh, he spun around with such force that he almost fell completely off the stool he was sitting upon. He was expecting what was before him, the flickering image of a vision that duplicated a memory of someone _important,_ someone who, years ago, had not been agonizing reflection. Who had been a confidant, a close companion, but not through psychic, supernatural ability.

 _"You are leaving me."_

The assertion weighed heavy like a pound of bricks, a burden on his shoulders that was far too much for him to carry alone. He slumped, his posture defeated, any sliver of conviction greatly diminished, as if the flaring candle of light inside of him had petered out.

 _"You can't leave me again."_

Scout lifted his head, the spark of sharp blue eyes dulled, with remaining adversity being the only difference. "Y-Yes. Yes, I can. You . . . left me . . . first."

 _"I do believe it was_ you _who left_ me. _"_

The plain, straightforward statement, its unwavering truthfulness rattled his world. He had already known and accepted this, the information the ghost reiterated, but to hear it coming from the source of someone who he had previously loved, who he _still did,_ even in death, was enough to shatter any hope he had on the outlook of the situation. His situation. His irremediable circumstance. He couldn't go out. He could not use this as a remedy for madness, the attempt would go up in flames and he would be crushed, burned beneath the smoldering smoke.

 _"You left me. And now we are torn."_

Gusts of ice spears plunged through his heart, bursting in a split moment, the emotional pain feeling like a train striking from behind. Glacial streaks of white flashing before his vision, fusing with brief flares of memories that teleported him to another time, another location completely, within a blink of an eye. And it continued flooding his visual perception, cloaking all sensibility and realization of the true world before him.

He wasn't curled on the floor of his otherwise bare house, he wasn't even in the house at all. Physically he _was_ , but mentally was an outright different matter. The spikes of pain made fresh by each memory were buried, but honed in on his mind - overwhelming and devastating, but not foreign.

Distraught over the images fed to him by his unstable, deranged brain, he did not consciously notice that the spectral apparition had dissolved when the outburst commenced.

 **/ / \ \**

As an angel, Ze'ev would assume - and continue to believe, regardless of being told otherwise countless times - that one would not require what was vital for a normal Earthen to live. Making a habit of following their habits ( _"irrational necessities; a preposterous prerequisite for all earthly beings in order to exist"_ , as he had called it) was exceedingly difficult for the celestial wolf, who was far from practiced in the technique of living as an actual person on the face of the earth.

This complication, of having to not only be mindful of the mandatory steps but to also follow them, prompted Edge to perpetually remind him to _stay hydrated, eat something, don't mess around with the toaster . . ._ Most of the elder angel's warnings were brushed off with a sigh, but abide by. That is, until the friendly warning strayed from mind and he failed to remember.

From what little he knew, Earthens favored differing tastes, indulging upon plentiful mixed flavors that were overpowering and puzzling to Ze'ev. He could not apprehend the understanding of _why_ some would go out of their way to not only waste valuable time creating these combinations of refined tastes, but also to dispose of significantly important _money_ on these pleasures. Edge had brought light upon the purpose of these people's actions, by explaining that, after a long period of time, eating the same type of meal over and over without varying choice got boring. Ze'ev still did not quite have a grasp on the reason, but he let the conversation end there and continued choking down the all-too tasteful _food._

"We're meeting the group again, later today," Edge said absently, walking into the room, scanning the surface of the counters for sign of Ze'ev's inhabitancy, highly relieved that nothing had been disturbed in the short time of his absence. "I don't think everyone is going to be there, but it will better than nothing."

" _Better?_ "

"Yeah," Edge drew the device that ranked topmost in the list of bizarre Earthen contraptions from wherever it had been concealed, eyes shooting over the metallic glowing light that diffused from the rectangular gadget. "I'm thinking that the more we incorporate ourselves in society - specifically you, because I have already done that long before you arrived - the easier we can find your charge . . . you know, the original plan. Except now, with you _knowing_ what he looks like, it will be much simpler."

Ze'ev's attention, though cognizant of his peer's announcement, snagged upon a clear jar laid upright on the counter, in arm's reach. A blue lid cracked halfway, an obvious sign of pre-use, further allowed him to examine a cream white, seemingly solid substance contained inside, past the clear glass cover. His interest piqued, he made a motion to seize the jar, the movement going unnoticed by Edge.

"Despite your insistence on returning to the precise tactic used formerly, I am not fully inveigled to the belief that we will benefit from these proceedings by means that support our inceptive objective."

Shooting him a baffled frown, Edge shook his head, unmindful of the blue plastic cap being popped off. He was focused on whatever details or information was given to him from the device in his paws, sounding distracted when he mumbled to his companion, "Translate it to English, Ze'ev."

Ze'ev's paw faltered from closing in the distance between the exposed whipped density inside the unclouded case, staring unblinking at the husky before him. "If my sources were not erroneous, the words verbalized heretofore _were,_ unmistakably, articulated in decipherable English."

"I don't think even a college professor would be able to deduce the meaning of what you just said," Edge muttered, realizing that, without tediously searching each and every word spoken by the wolf, he would never completely understand what was being said. "But even if you don't think it will work, this strategy, then how else are we supposed to go about finding him again? You have a face to go by, which is more than we had before last night. I think that we should be able to find his location in a more timely manner now, especially if we - how did you say it? - _return to the precise tactic used formerly_."

Sparing a glance up at the slightly flustered angel still absorbed with the _phone,_ Ze'ev settled the smooth, slippery gel-like substance against his lips, perking up when the unanticipated taste flooded his senses. Despite having been obligated to consume the plentiful assortment of meals that Edge had prepared, quick food that hardly took five minutes to make yet tasted as though a work lasting a lifetime had been taken to create _that exact flavor,_ this was definitely his favorite. It was not sweet by any means, but bitter was also inaccurate. Distinctly tart, it yielded easily to the pressure applied by his tongue, spreading gloriously. An unpreventable smile extended on his muzzle, ecstasy surging through his veins.

"Besides, if you have not noticed, here on Earth, I do have an appointed responsibility to fulfill - Ze'ev, don't eat that."

Jolting in alarm of being caught in an act that would be disapproved, Ze'ev looked up with congealed white matter smeared in a line shooting directly upward on his muzzle, an outcome of having been startled from being discovered.

Instead of giving off the impression of upset or perturbed, Edge simply looked repulsed. "That is disgusting. Who eats mayonnaise for the pure delectation of it? You are strange. Very, very strange."

He began to speak in his vindication, but was shut down as soon as Edge pivoted his attention away, the unavailing discussion drawn to a close. Though he did not receive approbation for indulging upon the _mayonnaise,_ it did not disincentivize him, and he made an effort to remove what marked his face.

"Anyway," Edge shook his head back and forth, as if trying to rid himself from having witnessing something as abominable as the wolf in front of him, "Back on topic. We will be meeting them in one of the nearby parks in a few hours. This will be a gathering most likely spent outdoors, so you, most indisputably, will want to dress warm."

"We will have to suffer through an indefinite abundance of gelid elements, aggregated in an assembly of Earthens, who spend a great quantity of their time luxuriating in vexatious ridicule over another individual?"

"Why not?" Came the distracted response, though Ze'ev was not expecting anything more, nothing different. Because the older angel appeared set in this general construction of a _plan,_ and was not open to make different this decision.

He shrugged, and the two fell into something resembling a comfortable silence, engaged in each their own particular activity, both aware of the time they had remaining before they would leave, to join the company of Edge's anomalous, quirky friends.

 **/ / \ \**

At first glance, you would not have been noticed him. He did his best to go undetected, aimed to not be seen at all by those not immediately around him. With his head ducked low enough to avoid any direct eye contact, but not so much that it would raise awareness to his discomfort, he was almost indistinguishable amid the more upbeat crowd.

It wasn't exactly a _crowd_ that flowed around Scout, nor was the amount of people large whatsoever. It was the solitary fact that _he_ was in the middle of what was, apparently, a casual event for everyone. Everyone, excluding himself.

But that was alright with him, accepted, yet a persisting reminder in the fissures of his mind. As inconvenient as it was, it wasn't unpredicted, and he had more or less expected it. The ordeal he had to force his way beyond, just barely avoiding a mental breakdown that would have left him hiding away in some far flung corner of the house instead of where he was _now,_ was not something he would enthusiastically endure on a frequent basis. And though it was hardly a half hour into this meet-up between friends, it was nothing significantly sensational. It only added to the uncertainty of his rationality, the immense anxiety, and though all other sound was muffled behind the rushing of blood through his ears, the convivial chatter that passed between the group ricocheted around his head. It was all too loud, too boisterous for the husky who spent a large portion of his life behind closed walls, alone but for uninvited ghosts and phantoms and nightmares.

"He said they would meet us here five minutes ago," Ace grumbled impatiently, pawing restlessly at the frozen snow beneath him. "Where _are_ they?"

Nika squinted at him, unamused. "You set the time on your phone twenty minutes fast for a reason, Ace. They aren't late by any means."

"Oh, right!" Ace brought out the phone in question, but frowned when he realized just how much mental work it would take for him to surmise the actual time. "Oh, well, then I suppose they have a few more minutes left before we go gallivanting across the snowy city to search for them!"

He wasn't ruffled by the frigidity of the clouded, dreary day; it wasn't extraordinary weather for the winter months in the city. He doubted that it would even be a concern should the temperature drop further, considering from his heart spread forth a distinct chill of its own, a deprivation of any feeling other than his frantic, panic-stricken nerves. He hadn't caught on to who they were waiting for before now, but from process of elimination and being told earlier by Ace that Carswell was unable to join them, he could only assume that Edge was left on the list.

 _"Why did you leave me?"_

The whisper that wafted into his ear, as if caught on a passing breeze, caused him to shudder and let his vision graze over the surrounding vicinity, only mildly relieved that _nothing physically endangering_ was near. He resettled his silent attention on the group, though it had diverged so drastically that, at this point, following the topic would be impossible.

When something brushed against his red jacket, he startled, flinching as if he had just been struck. He grimaced apologetically, seeing it was only Selene. Muzzle turned down in a frown, an all-too familiar countenance crossing her exquisite face - _concern._

"Scout, are you alright?"

"Yeah, just cold," he lied with deceptive ease, inhaling deeply, quietly, the interaction already causing him to tingle with unease, speaking with slow caution. Antipathy for this reoccurring situation, no matter who it happened with, caused him to remain standing, talking to her.

She hummed softly, nodding in agreeance, but not a hint of worry disappeared. "It _is_ rather cold out here. I know we shouldn't have let Ace plan the location today, of all days. I heard it is supposed to be warmer, if even by a few degrees, tomorrow."

Scout nodded, though he wasn't taking in her words. They darted in one ear and out the other, too smooth and compassionate to stick, chased by atrocious, constantly negative thoughts. He did not stare at her forthrightly, with a look casted at the ground beneath their paws.

"It's been quite a while since we last had the pleasure of you joining us," Selene said, her voice cut out from the rest of the group's muted tones. "And a wonderful surprise, really."

He felt compelled to explain his absence, but any excuse refused to leave the tip of his tongue, and an awkward silence ensued.

 _I've been busy. I haven't been able to work around my full schedule. I've been spending time with family, or friends. I_ have not _been trapped by crippling hallucinations, nor have I lost all form of ability to communicate or even be around other people. No, not at all. That is certainly not the case._ Lies.

 _I am not emotionally traumatized over an event that happened years ago. The past is no more clinging to me like a second coat. I am okay._ Lies.

"They _still_ haven't showed up!" Ace said clamorously, stomping sulkily, bouncing over to where Nika was rapidly typing out a message on her phone, eyes half-lidded in response to the nuisance now bobbing up and down around her like a fishing lure partially submerged in a body of water. "Guys, we have to go looking for them! They could be . . . like, stranded out there, in the cold, helpless, for all we know! We need to go searching for them!" 

Selene sighed, though the force of the heavy breath was not infiltrated with any of the severe annoyance as held by Nika, but rather as if she found the Shepherd comical. "I am sure they will be along soon, Ace. You just have to be patient."

"He does not know the definition of that word!" Nika said, shoving Ace away from where he was now attempting to steal her knitted snow cap from where it sat, securely tucked over her ears. "Someone neglected to inform him that it is something imperative to learn, and essential to life."

Ace nearly toppled over from the impact of the rough jostle, but was grinning goofily as he righted himself. "Oh, no, I know what the definition of it! It means . . . um . . . well, it means _something._ But, like, if we all know the description of the word then there isn't any reason for me to tell you!"

Scout rolled his eyes, but froze before completing the movement, noticing from the corner of his eye a glistening shadow, a flash of colors that did not match the white scene encompassing them. He swiveled around, dread causing his heart to sink, his blinking eyes confirming what he saw standing a short distance before him.

It was Edge, but appearing beside him was an exact replica of what had haunted Scout the night of the looming monster. The glowing wolf that had cast away the shadow of dark matter by simply materializing from the blackened shade of the bedroom, eyes running over the group inquisitively.

And when their gazes clashed, warm brown locked on steely blue, he knew for certain that there was no possible escape from these manifestations. They would follow him ubiquitously, they would track down, and they would prohibit him from ever recovering.

The phantom persisted, even as the other friends turned to understand the reason for the Scout's sudden reaction. He blinked. Still there. He glanced around. No one else seemed affected or surprised.

This was the most realistic nightmare he had lived through yet, and he felt that it was leading up to something much, much worse.

 **/ / \ \**

Dressed comfortably and fully satisfied due to devouring half a jar of the squishy white substance Edge had informed him was properly eaten on a portion of bread, covered by various other ingredients to create a _sandwich,_ Ze'ev trailed along after the older angel through the frozen sludge overlaying the streets.

He was quite distracted by the way his breath fogged up in a steamy cloud when he emanated a short exhale out, by the segment of the concrete sidewalks that had been scraped clean of snow. A particularly loud car rushing past the city travelers. The patches of water puddles from where the snow had been melted enough to create a miniature, standstill river.

At a cross section, where four streets intersected, they slowed to a stop, and Ze'ev began searching around for a pool of thawed snow that he had come to anticipate at these small cessations. The much movement that sourced from the many winter boot-protected paws caused it, he knew from an unknown derivation. He had to lean over the walkway, the drop only inches deep, yet the depth enough to contain what he had been looking for.

"It seems only empirical that the inconceivable impossibility of we, ethereal beings, can be clothed without having to brood over the bothersome worry of protection for our wings," Ze'ev said, watching the water return to serenity from a pebble of loose gravel that had been flung from the most recent vehicle that passed by.

"Believe it or not, everything I have told you about us adopting the ways of Earthens is true," said Edge, watching for the streetlight to signal a safe crossing for the pedestrians. "That also includes coats, jackets, and the like." He spent a moment longer standing in silence, his stare indefatigable from the light, before sparing a careful, watchful glance at his companion. "Ze'ev, what are you doing now?"

The Timber Wolf had not only bent down to get a better view, but planted the entire front half of his body upon the path, staring with wide eyes at his reflection as if he hadn't ever seen it fully before. He had, but never spent more than a second to contemplate the image mirrored back at him. And now he was caught with a copy of himself staring back, unblinking. He cocked his head to the side in wonder, and the mimic imitated him. Though he heard Edge's question, it fell to the back of his mind, and he barely noticed a set of paws moving beside him, to the left of his head. Moving forward carefully, he gently tapped the water, watching in stunned amazement how the echo of his figure bent and contorted, deforming but never losing track of his every movement. He felt the warmth from Edge's huffed chuckle above his vulnerable, pointed ears, but could not force himself to turn away.

"Is this how Earthens perceive my appearance?" Ze'ev dared not to look in a different direction as the water calmed again, "My physical corporeal, a somatic veneer façade enshrouding the truth of my veracity soul?"

"Sure," Edge had not a clue what language Ze'ev had spoken in, and though he was almost positive that it was, without doubt, _English,_ his fanciful wording made it unfeasible to make sense of. "That is your angelic form, though. To everyone else, you are seen different - by little or more drastic means - than how you can see yourself. No other person is able to observe your original figure, except for other angels and those under your guardianship."

Ze'ev nodded distantly, and when next Edge looked at the street crossing, he gave him a nudge. "If we are going to get to the park in a reasonable time with you meandering at every puddle we cross, we should get moving."

 **/ / \ \**

"I'm glad that most of us are here!"

 _A gentle, carefree smile cast in his direction, a reassuring expression aimed to calm him in times of anxiousness. What acheived success many times before, a cure for times when he couldn't count on anything else._

"I didn't think you guys would ever make it, you took long enough."

 _Tires skidding with no traction against rough pavement. Spinning uncontrollably, his whole life coming into perspective, dancing wildly before him in bright flashes. All hope lost as the vehicle came to a stop, after such a quick but viciously aggressive happening._

Their eyes connecting for another long moment, making breathing a remote thought.

 _Blackness dotting his vision, covering the dreadful view of directly beside him, only separated by the damaged console. A cry sticking in his throat as he choked in another painful breath, feeling his mouth dry, his limbs stiff and painfully numb from numerous cuts, both deep and minor._

He positioned himself away, forcing the movement that was the biggest attainment known to him at the current time. He _could not_ continue staring at the ghost, unable to keep himself together any longer if he did so.

 _Grief that had no limit. Inner pain more inimical than any flesh wound._

"Scout, you haven't been introduced to Ze'ev yet, have you?"

The husky in question refocused on the present again, seeing everyone staring expectantly in his direction. _Ze'ev. So that was the ghost's name. It actually had a name._ If this was a dream, with everyone seeming to know the illusion, with the friends surrounding him conscious of his delusion and rather _accepting,_ then it was certainly the oddest he had ever experienced.

And if he wasn't the most knowledgeable in this area of life, he didn't know who _was._

 **/ / \ \**

 **Well, this certainly took long enough. XD And would you look at that - nothing truly exciting happened in this chapter, despite the length of it. Wow. Hehehe.**

 **Ze'ev likes mayonnaise because I do, and yes, someone caught me eating it at dinner last night and I got it all over my face because they surprised me. Long story, but it was good stuff. So that was purely a rendition of what happened to me last night. Lol.**

 **Once again, thank you to all who read this story and get further confused by whatever Ze'ev is saying. Any mistakes are purely accidental, and comments/constructive criticism is always welcome!**

 **-Firepower**


	10. Truth Is Now Acceptable

**I always feel the need to apologize for updating so sporadically. Lately I have been going through some health issues and have been busy with school and animals and filming.**

 **There is a "theme" in my writing with each chapter, or a word that I will use all too often. XD Also, I am sorry for any mistakes ahead of time.**

 **(Did you really think I was going to be original and make up my own chapter title this time?)**

 **/ / \ \**

The walls were bleeding.

Oh, what a very interesting _concept._ What a horrifying _reality._

He supposed it only made sense, it was just what he deserved. _He_ had voluntarily made the decision to go out, to push past the invisible forces and struggles for nothing more than to give a vain attempt at remaining mentally stable. Had he not allowed his hopes to expand into actions, he would not be in this mess at the moment. Or perhaps he would - who knew anymore?

Not even an hour after the returning ghost appeared, Scout had lost all resilience against the horrors of his mind and, on the verge of what he knew was going to be nothing short of a mental breakdown, had barely escaped the group. Of course he could not go home; he would get nowhere near the _un_ safebut familiarity of the house before he would be overtaken by the usual delusions. And, if it happened that these normal mind torments escalated into far worse, for that was nothing abnormal, he would be away from the dark corners of home, he would be stuck in the cold piles of endless snow. He would be found. He would become known as _not okay._ No one would believe him when he repeated, over and over, that he was _fine._ He would lose against those who argued what was best for him, and he would end up where he begun. Where this had all started. And therefore he had quickly, quiet and abruptly, excused himself temporarily from the group, with an explanation that he couldn't quite recall at the moment.

He found himself tucked in the back of a narrow alley, shallow in size and depth, cut off just enough from the world that no one passing by would notice him, should they not stop and peer into the shadows created by the buildings shooting skyward on either side of him. There was not even a thread of comfort or a sense of security, being so distanced from where he normally lived out these nightmarish tortures behind the walls of his cold house, only an added fear of being discovered. That, and countless other problems, none that were of any importance to him. Not now, anyway.

As if the walls around him had been slit with a long, large knife, blood burbled across a fine line, congealing where the cut began and then growing so heavy that the red droplet fell down the side in a streak. What had started as small strips running down the gray surface of the walls had thickened, become bubbling collections of the blood bubbles clinging to each other and sliding down in a hypnotizing manner. He was transfixed upon this illusion - or what he very dearly hoped was fake - and it was the only thing caught in his vision. He did not, _could not_ turn away. He was frozen, as much as the packed snow around him, the pure white ice that was being dyed an ugly, abhorring shade of red with each fresh drop.

He had been okay. To his standards, he had been doing just fine before Edge showed up. Sure, he had hardly been able to carry on a proper conversation with Selene without fumbling around on heavy words spoken in a voice unused to so much talking, but he had not been pushed to the point he was at now. It wasn't until _the ghost_ walked up alongside Edge, too solid, too familiar to be mistaken, _too real._ It wasn't until _he_ started talking, until _he_ spoke in a measured voice - the sound entering Scout's ears like knives being plunged into either side of his head in synchronization - that Scout was positive about not being able to last the entirety of the planned meeting with friends. And it had only gotten worse as his choice was made to stick it out, to ignore this hallucination in favor of spending rare time with those who he considered his friends. Surely no one else would notice him staring off into the distance occasionally, no one would realize just how psychotic he was. If he did not speak to the specter, an action quite the opposite of the conversations he engaged in behind the locked doors of his house, no one would suspect anything.

He would just pretend it didn't exist.

Which was easier said than done when, not even thirty seconds into his adamant decision, Edge turned to speak to him, introducing him to the ghost as if it were completely normal. As if he, too, could see the phantom as Scout did. And then, to his surprise, everyone around him begun conversing with Edge and the specter, the wolf that they called _Ze'ev,_ unaware of the confusion that refused to sort itself out in Scout's head.

Was it real, or was this all a dream? Was this another nightmare, one that occurred in the middle of the day, one that would most certainly ruin the rest of his evening and further the forever scaring on his soul? Was he not in the surroundings that appeared around him, instead trapped in the suffocating bounds of his bedroom?

Was this not real? _His life wasn't real. How could this be any different?_

So much for avoiding the stare of the unwavering phantasmic form; he could just _feel_ the ghost's eyes tracking even the slightest of movements he made. It wasn't he who stared, it was the haunting illusion, eyes twinkling with unnatural golden luminescence. It felt, without Scout even making an attempt to let their gazes clash, that _Ze'ev's_ eyes were boring holes directly to his soul. As if he could read all of Scout's frantic thoughts, see his useless scrambling for sanity and a way to approach the turn of the situation.

When the wolf spoke, the voice was _too real,_ and even with his muzzle shut Scout could _hear_ his voice. It was in the back of his head, so unmistakably genuine, spoken in waves that dipped up, then down, a slow pattern. His blood ran cold every word vocalized by the phantom, whether he was speaking _to him_ or not, whether he was _actually speaking_ or it was just Scout's head messing with him.

Rooted to an uncomfortable position in the mound of snow encompassing the alleyway, reality faded in and out, unable to decide which it wanted more - to cause him to suffer with the actuality of the current events or bedevil him by incurring distress based on illusory imagines.

 _"Are you not scared to walk this world alone?"_

But how was it that he was alone? How was he living this lifetime in solitary when these monsters created by his grief melded and took form as actual people? It was all so twisted, so horribly twisted . . .

Something warm fell soundlessly onto the top of Scout's head, instantly rolling down the side and landing in the frozen ice packed beneath his paws. Red. It was red. He glanced directly up, in the direction of the wall behind him, the one which he was using to remain upright by leaning against, and another clean slit had been made above his head. From it dribbled a fresh spill of blood, the smeared trail leading in his direction.

He was almost fascinated by the way it splattered and landed messily on his head, his shoulders, the snow around. So richly colored, a substance far from watery, but neither stiff or thick. Not yet, anyway. It would have to dry first. And the longer he stared at the ground, the easier it became to create shapes in the discoloration of the whiteness, to make out images both simple and intricately done.

A few speckles of the blood surrounded a large droplet that had rolled down Scout's face, crashing silently, and from it appeared a depiction of a jagged sword. Or, that wasn't quite right - rather the shape resembled something shorter, perhaps not _as_ dangerous, not as deadly. A large knife, yet just as ragged as originally assumed. The handle was deformed, the blade shaped awkwardly and appeared to be chipped in some areas, but it was not difficult to recognize that it was, at least, a knife of sorts.

His attention snagged on another group of fallen blood drips from the wall, and as they were quite a few feet away from where he sat it took a lengthy moment to completely capture the picture growing from the connecting specks. It was a misshapen mound of what could be perceived as a crumpled body, it was what he could make out as the edges of the world swam in his vision. Curled in on itself, as if some force had caused it to wrap in such a fetal position . . . he had seen it before. Too many times to count. _Too many times to count._

 _"You know those times when the world feels . . . I don't know. Just, not right? Like, you can't exactly place_ what's wrong, _but everything just feels . . . off?"_

 _He lifted his head over the piles of covers that lay untouched, the bed completely unmade, staring over the impressive mound at the person across the room, sitting on the floor despite leaning next to a chair. Around him were scattered popsicle sticks along with half empty bottles of glue, paints that were more than likely to stain the carpet unnatural colors, uncapped markers strewn about carelessly. Evening sunlight streamed through a curtained window above the nearby desk, illuminating the assortment of art supplies and the person using them._

 _Scout frowned when no response was received, and he began to repeat what he was saying in the case that they hadn't heard him, but he was interrupted by a thoughtful hum._

 _"Yes, those times were quite frequent at one time." Came the answer, before another long, drawn out silence fell upon the two and Scout was left unsatisfied, staring with a frown in the other's direction._

 _A creak started to grow in his neck from holding it in such a difficult angle, and with an annoyed sigh he plopped back down into the heap of covers. "The world is too complicated. Everything feels messed up, it feels as though I will never_ get _anywhere. Nothing will ever happen. Like . . . I'm stuck in this moment. And everything feels wrong."_

 _"If you think life now is onerous, just wait until you're older."_

 _Scout scoffed, rolling over so that his head dangled over the edge of the bed, allowing him to see the other person without putting too much strain on his neck. "I am older. I might be younger than you, but that doesn't mean I'm not older."_

 _He earned a bemused look from the dog on the floor. "Scout, that makes no sense."_

 _"It made sense to me," Scout said defiantly, biting back a smile and failing miserably. It dropped shortly after. "But no, seriously - am I the only one who feels this way? Be honest."_

 _"No, you're not the only one," he replied, reaching for a bright blue bottle of paint, and in the sunlight it glittered like a night sky. "I think everyone feels that way, at least at one point in their life. There is a rock bottom to every part of life, as well as a cloud nine, in almost every situation you go through."_

Wasn't that such a lie, one that he had been so blind to until now.

 _"If there is always happiness and sadness, or however you would describe this feeling, then why can't I access the good part? Where is it, if the sadness and the emptiness and the wrongness are all that I can see?"_

 _The blue paint was set aside, this time in a more considerate manner, and a velvety black was chosen from where it lay stacked on its side against pastel purple. "Sometimes you have to endure through the hard times in order to become strong and prepared for the trials of the future. Whatever you're going through now is strengthening you for something larger, it will help you withstand the weight of the tribulations that await you later on."_

 _"Basically you're saying that this isn't the worst of it," Scout grumbled, shoulders sagging. "You mean that this is only, like, a demonstration of what I will have to go through when I get older?" Worry crossed his face. "But . . . but what if I'm not tough enough to make it past these feelings_ now? _Does that mean that I will be inept at getting through the problems that, as you said, are waiting for me later on?"_

 _The laugh coming from the person sitting on the floor was not teasing, there was nothing but kindness and understanding emitted in the short, soft sound. "Trust me, Scout, you will get through this. Both now, and in the coming times. I know you, and you're resilient, you don't give up easily. You don't have to worry about being strong enough, because I know that there isn't anything that you can't deal with. And when things get too challenging, I will be right there as back up. Always."_

As much as he hated to admit it, what he had been told, what had comforted him during what he had thought was a "difficult time", though compared to _now_ it was _nothing,_ was all a lie. Because if it were true, he wouldn't be where he was, backed in the corner of an unknown alley, every breath a struggle, hardly any focus on his surroundings. Alone. With no back up whatsoever. It was just a lie. It was all a lie.

 _The black paint bottle was set aside the previously used blue, a clash of the beginning of_ orderly _in the middle of a complete_ mess. _Leaning over to grab another color to add on the multicolored assemblage of stickily glued sticks, at the same time Scout slid too far down the perimeter of the bed. The husky landed unharmed on the rug, but his fall caused the open container of sharp red paint to spill and sent a splash over the carpet on the floor._

 _The stain would remain there forever, and the laughter shared would never cease to ring in his ears, now more of a haunting sound rather than a reflection upon the humorous moment._

 _Red splotches, a splash of unnatural color on the rug . . . the paint began to dematerialize, the neutral light around the room morphed into an unmitigated scene of . . ._ the back of a dead-end alleyway, walls facing either side, one tall barrier behind him. Snow packed into the corners, piles of it circling him.

The walls were still bleeding, but now positively pouring instead of a steady drip. Before long, it would cover the entire ground. The level would rise, continue increasing until he was drowned in the gooey substance, until it suffocated him and he was trapped beneath the uncompromising weight of it all.

"Scout?"

The sound splintered the world around him, and everything burst free of the bloody trap. An electric shock - _he knew it was nothing more than his mind, it wasn't real_ \- raced from his head and exploded in his heart. He had no emotional expression as he slowly turned in the direction of the call, ghost faced with hollow, vacant eyes flickering between ice blue and a more unforgiving, darker shade.

He would have been able to recover had it been anyone else. He would have been able to force some sense into his addled brain in time to assure them that everything was fine, he would have easily come up with a cover of the situation, a reasonable excuse as to why he was where he was, what had happened.

"Are you alright?"

Had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have lost it. He wouldn't be convinced that this was the end, that his mind had finally gotten the best of him. He would _not_ have felt as though this was where the multiplying emptiness eclipsed him and there was nowhere to turn.

Who he had been acquainted to as _Ze'ev, Edge's cousin_ , who he knew as _the winged, continually returning ghost,_ stood at the entry to the turn off of the street, full worry completely covering his face.

"Are you incapacitated by a somatic abrasion and lacking ability to stand upright vertically?"

It wasn't until the wolf made a move in his direction that Scout forced himself to act against what, to him, seemed to be nothing more than a deceiving, delusioned hitch of his mind. It may or may not have been, but he was not willing to suffer through it again. Not again. Not another paralyzing moment of immobility, another nightmare bleeding into the real world.

"No, _no,_ " Scout pushed himself up, fully aware that he was trembling in front of this . . . this _ghost-not-ghost._ "Just _stop._ Leave me _alone!_ I-I'm tired of - I can't do _this_ anymore! Leave. Me. _Alone!_ "

Ze'ev halted abruptly, eyes growing wider in shock at the unexpected yelling his question had gained. While the walls had stopped bleeding altogether, the ground the phantom stood upon was downright soaked, a crooked circle extending from where he stood, the gruesome puddle of red slowly outstretching. However, the apparition - _was this a nightmare or_ not?- was unaffected, appeared not even disturbed by the stickiness of the ground, the goop that bubbled beneath him.

"Go _away!_ I j-just want to _live!_ Live, without you and every other memory of the past, for it all to just _go away!_ Is there anything wrong with wanting that?!" Scout was growing hysterical, distraught when the specter didn't disappear, didn't seem any _less real._ "Stop following me. You're not _real,_ you're not _alive._ Stop pretending to be, and just leave me alone!"

"I express extreme regret and apologize for causing interference during a time of invidious plight. Shall I vociferate to notify the others and -"

"Stop! Get out of my head, go _away!_ You're not real, this is not real - _nothing is real._ " A coldness crept up, slivers of ice growing on his shaking legs, but a blazing fire raged inside his heart, melting the shards before they could spread farther. From this inner fire, ablaze and seething, the smoke rose as a black shadow, a lurking monster rising up and fueling his outburst. "I am sick and tired of you showing up and ruining _my_ life. You're not - you aren't supposed to _be real!_ Why can't I just live in peace?"

Taking a cautious, worried step in the direction he had come from, closer to the forgotten entrance of the alleyway, Ze'ev's eyes darted across the closed area, as if searching for an explanation.

"Again, I apologize for provoking any detestable -"

"This. Isn't. Real. You're. _Not._ Real." He shook his head harshly, "Stop pretending to care; you have made me become . . . turn into this. _This,_ Ze'ev. I can't go on, I can't continue acting like everything is _fine,_ because it's _not!_ Thanks to you, your accusations, your appearances . . . just _you!_ "

 _Red eyes glowed, burned, ascending from the most scorching of embers that flared and sparked from the internal fire. The fuming shadow-smoke crumpled, warping and becoming deformed. Shapes fought over each other in an attempt to overtake,_ and all of this was in his head.

"It wasn't my fault," he stood sturdier now, with the rising contortion invisible, but just as _physical_ to him as the wolf and the blood around him. "None of this is my fault. There is - you, and everyone else . . . it's all a lie! Everyone, every _thing_ is a sickeningly twisted _lie!_ You are gone. You are dead. You are a lie that my brain has created, I'm sure the intentions for doing so were not originally to turn out like this, but it did. You are a ghost. You are a monster. And you have changed me into one as well. _Just leave alone!_ "

Added confusion was not needed by Ze'ev, but this meeting that had, at first, seemed like such an innocent idea, only furthered his not understanding. Scout, in front of him with a demented expression and angered, tearful eyes aimed solely at him, gave off fear and irascibility. And the angel charged as being a ghost could detect something below the surface, a shuddering sensation causing his fur to stand on end. There was something _off_ about the presence of the Earthen, but he did not mull over this. Instead devoting himself to finding a source of comfort for his charge, anything to calm him down and therefore find a solution to whatever his problem might be.

Of course he did not believe it would be that simple, but it was worth a shot, in his opinion.

"You're . . . dead. You're dead, so _just go away and_ stay _gone,_ " the words cracked, and the armor of rage began to fade, the fire began to splutter out pitifully, "I can't do this, not anymore. I'm not - I'm not strong enough. I would rather be _dead,_ than have to live another day seeing you. Because every time _you're there,_ it only reminds me of how I'm _not_ dead. And believe me, I would do almost anything to change that, especially now." He seemed to be talking more to himself than directly at Ze'ev, and the Timber Wolf remained as still as the air around them, not daring to trigger another upset.

Scout met Ze'ev's stare, and momentarily the angel saw a veil of colorless black cloud his eyes, before returning to normal in an instant. So quick it was hardly noticeable. "But obviously I _can't_ do anything to change the way it turned out, or else wouldn't I have done that before? And now, here I am. Here you are. _Stop following me. Leave me alone. Get. Out. Of. My. Life!_ You're _dead!_ "

"Scout, Ze'ev?"

The angel spun around to face the friends they had left behind, that Scout had abandoned and Ze'ev had chosen on a whim to follow him. He did not remove the confusion from his face, and it was met with stunned looks that darted between him and the husky behind him. When Ze'ev glanced over his shoulder, he saw a tears threatening to overspill from icy blue eyes, their unwavering gaze ignoring the arrival of the group and focusing on _him._

Fear. Recognition. Anger.

With a spared look at his fellow angel, Edge, Ze'ev had a feeling that a long, explanatory discussion was much needed, and he couldn't agree more.

 **/ / \ \**

"This is precisely why I told you to stay by my side. You didn't know what could happen, _I_ didn't even know what could happen, and that is why I wanted you to stay with me," Edge seemed to be taking the entire event rather calmly, but Ze'ev could see a storm brewing behind his normally soft, now sharp eyes. "But no, why not just up and leave the group, ignoring all instruction and warning I had given you, to wander after an Earthen."

He raised one of his paws in defense, saying in his logical, no-nonsense way, "He is my assigned ward, it is my duty to -"

" _Yes,_ Ze'ev, I understand _why_ you did what you did," the older angel interrupted, rolling his eyes. "But what I am trying to get at, what I am trying to make understood to you is that, more than likely, you ruined any chance of helping him! Your designated charge! Because, after what happened earlier today, _you have questions. Questions,_ Ze'ev. And this is . . . this is not good."

Had Edge not been a heavenly being, his angelic title evinced by the dim outline of feathery wings that only he and Ze'ev could see, the wolf would have been convinced that he was going insane. Not in the way his charge was, it was only his words that did not contain a sense of clarity. Ze'ev could understand why Edge was upset at him for not only ignoring the heedful warning he had given him about being away from him, but also following Scout and causing whatever happened in the alley to occur.

"My intent was not -"

Edge cut him off with a deep sigh, a shifting from where he stood in the darkening hallway, a single light coming from the kitchen around the corner. "I know your intentions meant to denote no harm. I understand why you wouldn't have known what was going to happen, just as much as I couldn't have predicted it. But . . . still. And from what you already asked me, I can just _tell_ that, before long, you're going to come up with _more,_ deeper questions, and I'm going to be stuck answering them, in hope of saving your mission here on earth, or whatever." A long pause, before he mumbled to himself, "Watch this put the assignment in even _more_ jeopardy than before."

"Why would expounding upon my pardonable inquisitiveness induce peril to the contemporary task?"

"You're curious, Ze'ev. You are questioning too many things. The moment I closed the door behind us you were already asking me what Scout meant by the words he said to you," Edge leaned against the wall, the hardness falling from his eyes, replaced with tired and tried patience. "And . . . I want to give you all the answers to your questions. But it will - it will change your entire mindset about your mission. It will change everything, if I tell you what you are wanting to know. Dog, I'm not even sure if I am supposed to, or if it breaks some angel code or something."

"I only requested a sensible clarification as to why my protégé fancies the notion that I should be deceased."

He received a humorless smile, no sign of exultation behind the look. "That is the most important part of your mission, here on earth, I will not lie. It was not my place to tell. In fact, you weren't supposed to learn of that - of _this_ information at all. You are required to be impervious to this knowledge, especially since you are so young, in the sense of being an angel."

He pushed off the wall and nodded in the direction of the kitchen's mouth, leading Ze'ev to the small counter with the by-now familiar stools placed around it. Once seated and settled, Edge released another huff of breath slowly, ignoring the blank stare from across the table. It seemed like hours before either of them moved or blinked or even breathed normally, giving enough time for the air to become tense with expectancy and awaited answers.

"Ze'ev," Edge spoke quietly, staring at the tabletop with a detached look, "Ze'ev, I am going to tell you . . . I'm going to answer most of your questions. I am going to explain to you a few things. Most, but not all. There are some problems that you will have to figure out on your own, that you will not understand just by me telling you. But whatever I say, it must not cause you to veer from the way you are currently dealing with your assignment. It must not change any emotions you feel toward _anyone -_ angel, Earthen, or otherwise. You have to . . . promise me that, when I tell you, this information will not change any of your intended actions to help your charge. And so I am not sitting around while you give me some long, drawn-out assurance of something resembling a promise that you might not be able to keep, just nod your head."

It took a long moment to process, but Ze'ev nodded, once, running over the conditions of this information that was to be revealed shortly.

Despite not having his face turned to witness Ze'ev's tight nod, Edge knew how he would answer. Because, had he been in the exact circumstance as the less experienced angel, he, too, would have complied to just about anything to receive more information on _why_ he had been sent down from the only place he knew as home. In Ze'ev's case over a normal one, he would have had more questions, even before now. Where he had simply known what his job was after finding _his own charge,_ Ze'ev was still at a loss, even after finding Scout.

"Okay, so to start it off simply, I'll give you some common facts that almost everyone knows," said Edge, straightening in his seat and preparing himself for a long discussion that he did not doubt would bring along a load of confusion. "Scout, your ward, has lived here, in this city, for almost his entire life. Some years ago, there was an accident that killed someone he was really, really close to. I guess you could say they were . . . best friends. Nothing short of it. And it really tore him up. He became detached from the world, and . . . things happened. Bad things. His soul is incomplete. And by that, I mean _literally._

You know how, for those who are angels, our souls are pure with almost no possibility of being overtaken by _the other side?_ And how, for those who reside as humans in the world, their souls have a guard over them that protects their body for becoming a vessel to evil spirits, demons, diabolical beings? That protection built around their soul is the essence to living a normal life here on earth. If it is broken, it allows all things vile to enter. And . . . with his soul broken, missing an important wall against all of that, it's an open invitation for _the other side._ " He looked up to make sure Ze'ev was following him, but his expression had not changed since Edge began. And therefore he continued. "Basically, for the past few years, Scout has been tormented by demons. He is slowly losing his mind to the dark side, vulnerable against it, and he is completely unaware of it. As you could probably tell, just as I was able to, being around him gives off a wrong feeling. Well, that is why. Before long, he will be completely conquered by the darkness, and his soul will turn black."

"And this is only grief effectuated?"

Edge cocked his head to the side, considering. "Not . . . entirely. Yes, grief plays an important part in losing his sanity, but there is another, more principal reason. And that . . . that reason . . . it's very hard to explain. But . . ."

A long pause in which the husky grew noticeably nervous and Ze'ev leaned forward, giving him his full attention and to be certain that he missed nothing, not a bit of this important information.

"Scout was driving the car when the vehicular accident happened," Edge spoke even slower than before, quieter, "And while it killed his friend instantly, he managed to stay alive - for a few minutes, that is."

 _For a few minutes._ What was that supposed to mean?

"The thing is, Scout died in the wreck, just moments after his friend, before any help could even been called for. And this . . . this friend," _a deep inhale,_ "This friend was really special and really close to him. In fact, he was the last blood relation that Scout claimed to belong with. This friend was his best friend, and older brother. This friend, this person who died mere minutes before him, was _you,_ Ze'ev."

 **/ / \ \**

The sun had fallen again - it was night. The skyline was brightened nearer to the center of the city by the flashing, classic neon signs advertising closed shops and the occasional still-open but nearly vacant building.

Everyone had predicted another blizzard to sweep through the heart of the state, striking them with another arctic, northern blast, but tonight was calm and motionless in its frozen state of silence. The temperatures were low, dipping into the single digits, but with the lack of fresh snowfall it almost seemed warmer than the day had been.

A light flickered, not having much energy to live off of from being solar powered and having the sun hidden behind the clouds for the past few weeks, leaving the park under its muted illumination. Unnatural shadows and shapes darted to and fro, but each held a reasonable explanation; an owl traveling from branch to branch, the sprig of a leafless tree branch wavering in the breeze, the occasional automobile driving by on the street.

It was a calm night outside of the locked doors around the city. Troubles and worries and bothersome predicaments were whispered and dealt with far from that lonely park. The peace was complete.

No one would know until the coming of morning that bloody paw prints were left in a trail through the snow, ending as suddenly as they started at a dead end.

 **/ / \ \**

 **I always hold out hope that this wasn't confusing. Or too rushed. Because seriously, this story is ending soon, and I certainly do hope to complete the last few chapters by the beginning of July, in time for me to start another Camp NaNo session.**

 **Now I am sure some of you might have already guessed, long ago, that Scout and Ze'ev had relations or maybe you made the correct assumption that Ze'ev was the one who died in the wreck... but I will warn you that the surprises are far from over. Heh. Heh. Heh?**

 **Any constructive criticism is welcome, and any reviews are more than likely to make my day ten times better. I'm going to go sleep now.**

 **-Firepower**


	11. I Am Not Afraid To Keep On Living

**First of all, "Brother" by Gerard Way makes me super emotional.**

 **Secondly, I apologize ahead of time. Not only for grammatical mistakes, but for ... hehe, whatever is included in this chapter. I have put this off for too long.**

 **Third, this got extremely lengthy. Wow. Next chapter, I don't expect it to exceed around 2k words.**

 **Have fun?**

 **/ / \ \**

Slipping through the cracks underneath the door, having no trouble morphing into a flat, oozing ink that was a pitch as dark and impenetrable as tar.

Slinking across the ground in a manner not unlike unsettled waves in the currents of the ocean, spurting up as soon as the substance reached the inside of the house.

Crawling like an speedy inchworm, gathering itself up, up, acting as a ball and shooting forward, sending it across the floor, foot by foot by foot.

A portion broke off of it, a gray, mystical fog growing over the top and swirling around like a crown of protection as it darted forward into the kitchen, now floating just above the cold tile flooring. The black matter lashed out, spikes flying in search of a physical form of _someone,_ the person it was searching for. When the results in the room brought no luck, the misshapen substance slithered out of the room and rejoined into the mass of the fellow matter.

Reaching an opening into the living room, the dark accumulation came to an abrupt halt and rose up, rising tall to the ceiling before a shudder ripped through it. When the silent trembling ended, the size of the impending figure had greatly diminished, but there was still no sensible structure that could be made from it. It was a floating blob of incomprehensible darkness, a demonic air clinging to the edges of the formation.

It swiveled around, each jerky movement sending a wash of ink across the floor that vanished before landing and staining the surrounding area. A hazy mist of dangerous, shimmery smoke swelled and floated lazily for a long moment before guiding the substance into a more coherent configuration.

Ears flourished from the manifestation, sharp and angular. From what matter covered the ground was elevated, leaving only four leg-resembling segments that connected to a forming body, and the mist directed the final adjustment to the shape - a tail.

Overall, it was a mockery of who this devilish substance was after. And to complete the entire appearance, two blood red eyes blinked into existence, flickering and sending a trail of likely-colored tears down its face.

 **/ / \ \**

Edge planted his head on the table with a _thud_ when half a minute had passed and the same emotionless, blank expression remained on Ze'ev's face. A short burst of joyless laughter followed, and Ze'ev cocked his head to the side, but stayed silent.

The older angel raised his head and stared exasperatedly at Ze'ev, as if he couldn't believe the response his explanation moments ago had received. "You're not going to say _anything_ about that? You would think that revelation would be enough to . . . I don't know, surprise you, bring about disbelief or something. I'm not kidding - in your original Earthen form, you were Scout's brother."

Ze'ev's brow furrowed, his eyes clouding, puzzled. "Do you have expectations for a reaction? While I do not look upon your words with supposition, I find them remarkably nonplussed. My predominant question that has derived from my confusion is your meaning by stating that my assigned charge has previously been _deceased._ I do not understand."

He shouldn't have been the least bit surprised when Ze'ev seemed completely unaffected by the truth of his past life, how his life had ended as a normal being, before becoming something supernatural, something spiritually celestial. After learning about his own experience of such a short time span in the world, not long at all compared to the lifetime of angels, Edge had been momentarily disturbed, shocked to some degree. His was drastically different from Ze'ev in so many respects, their stories had almost nothing in common, but he seriously expected the less experienced angel to be more startled by the truth. But now was not the time to dwell on the oddity of Ze'ev, not when he had done that since Day One. Little did the wolf know, he was a special case. And from that, Edge couldn't presume that he would be just like the other guardian angels, the many he had known in the past and in the present.

Readjusting his seat, Edge inhaled slowly, preparing himself against the rest of the explanation, bracing himself for just about any rejoinder that could be thrown his way after he had finished speaking.

"Yes, your appointed Earthen, currently, died. Directly following your own passing, leaving no one who survived the wreck."

"For what rationale explains why he is incontrovertibly _alive_ then? To the extent of my cognizance, this dog, Scout, is sentient, functioning as a _live, breathing, existing_ Earthen. How . . . is former death even possible?"

Edge twisted his lip, only reconsidering his decision to expand Ze'ev's knowledge on his mission for the length of a blink. This was something that needed to happen, or else the assignment given to the winged wolf would never be completed, not fully. It would answer his inquiries, the questions that arose from his mindless choice to follow Scout and ruin what was building up to be a not-too-difficult task - only made simpler by finding Ze'ev's protégé (though how uncomplicated was it, to deal with an unexperienced angel and his person, as well as one's own Earthen, all at the same time while answering the demands of those above?).

"Again, to be straightforward and blunt," he extended his paws on the counter in a conciliated gesture, "You weren't supposed to become an angel."

Where the previous information had lacked in any amazement or anything but confusion, this spiked a new energy from Ze'ev, a glowing alarm made up of bells and lights and fireworks inside his head. Even in the gloom of the darkness, the approaching evening, his discomposure was easily visible.

"I-I . . . what?"

"When someone dies, you go to one of three places, based on your previous life, your death, your belief, and a number of other qualities. For all believers, your path lies within the boundaries of _the above,_ and the opposite for those who have declined the choice of faith. I'm pretty sure you know what happens if you are chosen to become an angel, correct? All the memories that you created on earth, all your past is to be wiped clean. In order to be pure, untouched by the evil of the world around us now, you have to be an immaculate slate. That means forgetting _everything._ Which is exactly what happened to you, to me, and to every other angel. And only certain angels of high position are allowed to be told of their past, unless it is otherwise mandatory. Which, I am afraid, is at the point you have reached now." A simple nod was all the response that Edge got, signaling him not to stop. "Well . . . when both you and Scout died, _you_ were chosen to live everlasting in the vast, perfect _above,_ while _Scout_ was selected for the placement as an angel."

The scene was sharp as it surfaced from the recesses of Edge's mind, and the memory played out in rapid replay, each detail of that event opening up and unfolding into the story of life, currently. The reality created by a decision against what had been set, what had been planned.

"Before clearing the past memories, every otherwise lifeless person will take part in a small ritual, a form of welcoming, I guess you could say, into the duty that awaits them as an angel," Edge nodded at Ze'ev, "You, however, never underwent such a ceremony. That is partially because Scout never became an angel. From my understanding, he did not approve of becoming a celestial being, but with a purpose; when told that he would not have any recollection of any people in his history on earth, that all his memories would be taken and buried, he refused. He realized that, by agreeing to having a fresh start, he would no longer remember the one person who meant the most to him. He would have forgotten _you,_ he would never see you the same again. And therefore he resolutely declined to become an angel, though it wasn't really much of a choice. And when the high leaders, who attend most of these incidental events to oversee the new instatements, steadfastly ignored his requests to be sent with you, Scout committed one of the most unbelievable acts that could be done - he sent his soul back down to earth. I am still unclear on _how_ he did so, but when he returned his spirit became incomplete. Which has led him down an ineluctable one-way road to certain self-destruction, with help of the demons surrounding.

The committee could not afford the loss of another angel, for Scout was set to replace one that we had lost in an unfortunate fight against the _other side,_ and consequently chose you for the position. It was in a hurry that the decision was made, and they pressed forward the process."

Edge quit speaking, and glanced at his silent companion, who hadn't made a single interjection during the narration of the past. _His_ past. Ze'ev's very own story, so much more complicated and complex than he had been satisfied with leaving it long before now. He had believed that the truth made no difference being told or left unknown; his job, on earth, was to assist his designated Earthen through their struggles, complete the task, and return home. There wasn't supposed to be anything more involved, nothing so in-depth that it left him faintly numb.

But then again, there wasn't supposed to be a supernatural fiend on the loose, rampant and with evil intentions for the city. What _could_ he have predicted, anyway?

With a sigh, Edge tapped his paw against the counter in a mindless rhythm, unaware of the noise that was filling up the heavy silence, his words still echoing back in each of their heads. He cleared his throat, pulling his arm from off the counter, underneath the surface before them. "No doubt, this is a lot to take in. Especially with . . . everything that's going on. But I think - I think it's better you know sooner or later. If I left you with all these unresolved questions, if I had let your confusion stack endlessly and grow without end . . . I don't think it would have helped you complete your assignment any quicker."

For once, Ze'ev made a visible movement, a slight listing of his head. A downcast glance of his eyes, a twitch in his right ear. The older angel knew he was thinking over it all, was processing the information and categorizing it as it stood in importance to everything else. Mixed emotions could be read, and suddenly there was no longer a disguise of innocence, ignorance, illiteracy to the world. There was no shielding of the confounding puzzlement, over something much more than a simple Earthen object unknown to the wolf. In the time Edge had known him - to all angels, the time would be considered hardly a dent in their lengthy lifetime - he hadn't seen him look so unconfident in anything, so questioning in his knowledge over _anything._ In the time Ze'ev had been on earth, Edge hadn't seen him look so _human._

"It's just . . ." Ze'ev started, but his sentence fell flat. "It's just . . . I see no relations, nor do I understand thoroughly as to _why_. . . From antecedent council I have been conferred to, it is not frequent that those of blood correlation get paired as guardian and ward. Is there a comprehensible illation for the choice to be determined in my instance?"

Tipping his nose skyward, motioning to _the above,_ Edge said, "Some angels are chosen to become so because of _unfinished business,_ here on earth. Where Scout was replacing a loss in our assemblage, perhaps they found you a fitting substitute in his place so you could protect him, do away with the demons and vengeful dark spirits?"

Ze'ev did not return to the small, hopeful smile, and Edge let it slip away. The previously obscure information unlocked a silence, opaque and at the front of their minds, refusing to let this sudden erudition diminish in light of yet another obstacle.

"Ze'ev, you can -"

His mouth snapped shut in the same movement as Ze'ev jerked his head upward, swiftly, done so quick it was a blur that almost caused Edge to fall backward, off his stool. Only barely catching hold on the lip of the counter and slamming his paw onto the granite so as not to tip over completely, he met Ze'ev's wide-eyed expression with one of his own.

No longer confused, Ze'ev had his ears held straight in rigid alert, fur bristling on his back, clustered around two no-longer invisible wings that were spread out behind him in an act of both warning and protection. On the other side of the intervening tabletop, Edge could feel the tips of his own transcendent, formerly vitreous wings tingle on inclination of a situation worth concern.

He was about to question Ze'ev on his sudden alarm when, from past the walls they were enclosed in, past the snowy roads and iced streets, a ball of foreboding rang clear through his body like an invisible current of electricity.

 **/ / \ \**

 _The looks on the faces - the uncertainty flitting from person to person, replacing the professional diplomacy from moments before he spoke - communicated an answer loud enough for him to comprehend._

 _No memories would be spared in their intended brainwashing. No, he would not have a choice of important characters in his past life to remember, to hold the flimsy reminiscences close to him for the rest of eternity. No, he would never have any recollection of the time before, and there was more of a chance that he would live in acceptance of this over ever being told otherwise._

 _They were telling him_ no.

 _No, he would not remember_ him. _He might not ever see_ him _again. And he couldn't live with that._

 _He shook his head slowly, as everything began sinking in, as reality started to settle like dust around his shoulders, more violently when horrifying scenes came in short, quickly disappearing bursts - of the wreck. Of_ him. _Of_ them. _Dead, dying. Only for him to wake up to this . . ._

 _A sense of honor, of obligation to accept their offer that was less of a choice and more of a compulsory decision . . . it was not enough to break through the wall of his past, the life he had lived and the memories that he had built. The memories that they planned to destroy, remove from his conscious. Nothing was strong enough to push against the longing he had for what had been normal, when he wasn't surrounded by these unbelievably supernatural creatures, when his home had been wherever_ he _was. They told him he would not recall a single thing. But what about_ him? He _would live forever separated, they would never see each other again. And if they did, Scout would not remember._

 _No, he could_ not _accept this. No matter what._

He hadn't done it for himself, not entirely.

 _Time stood still, but then it moved all too fast. So determined, so intent on not letting them take over his mind and eliminate both the good and the bad, his entire past lifetime. It was all a blur, he would never be able to piece together what had happened entirely. It was quite impossible to forget the sudden pain that ripped through his veins, lighted his fur in invisible fire, the crushing weight pushing down on him, the black that cloaked him._

 _Next thing he knew, he was being assured that he was_ fine _, that he was going to be_ okay _. So, so many other things, but it flew past him as he struggled to get the answer on the only thing that mattered; was_ he _okay? With sympathy and regret filling up doe-like eyes, a face that Scout couldn't focus on as he held his breathe and waited impatiently, the person who had moments before been telling him that everything was alright . . ._

 _It wasn't alright._ He _was dead. Scout knew it before the paramedic could even open her muzzle to speak._

He had not fought against Heaven itself just to return on the face of earth, alone, to be tortured and live a slow death.

Alone.

Scout shook his head, his eyes dry for once: there were no more tears, they had been shed long ago. He was exhausted, and hidden away in his house he did not hold onto the exterior strength, he had been relieved of the pretend mask of _fine,_ there was no one around to see him. He could be as broken as he wanted, and no one would stop him.

He didn't know if that was a good thing, or bad. It only made the visions worse, having nothing but his obnoxiously loud and disturbing mind to scream at him. But he didn't have to dissimulate his fragmented life to anyone.

It was a lose-lose situation.

A disturbance near the entrance of the bedroom caught his attention, the heavy door being pushed lightly against the dull plaster wall. He squinted, the simple action pushing his weakness past a point he hadn't reached for a long time, and in the darkness he could just barely make out a shape . . . a configuration of dark matter, a sudden appearance of cherry red eyes, accented by the blood that seeped in imperfect lines down, down the _face_ of this mystical specter before the husky. But the longer he stared, his heart accelerating and his mind at odds with itself - painful memories against empty, fearful _blankness_ \- he could perceive something more than a simple formation of a cluster of impenetrably dark shadows.

It wasn't the fact that this returning _monster_ was advancing toward him, bearing an abound of sinister countenance, that caused his heart to lurch uncontrollably.

No, Scout was more caught by the fact that this devilish beast was the shadowed replica of his long deceased brother, a duplicate of the ghost that had disrupted his earlier evening.

 **/ / \ \**

He wrenched Ze'ev away from the front door, stumbling back into the piled rises of snow. "Do you have no sense of someone's private property?! You don't just go breaking into other people's houses by tearing down their front door!"

An irritated twitch of his ears was the only sign that indicated Ze'ev had heard him. His focus was set on the door, inside the unlit house, and Edge knew that, in his distracted state, he was doing well just to keep his wings concealed. It was an arduous task even for Edge, for through his practice and instinct to keep them invisible from human eyes he could _feel_ a warning tingling in between his shoulders blades - a feeling that had only grown since approaching the specific house. He knew it wouldn't matter if either his or Ze'ev's wings were on full show; no one was around, no one would be able to see them anyway.

"Is there another method you propose for us to gain access to the interior heart of the problem's source?"

Edge examined the door from the short distance away they were, at the border of the porch, cocking his head to the side. "Perhaps we should knock?"

The knob had not been unlocked, as it had been the first thing Edge had attempted. No one would have been foolish enough to let it slip their mind that a cold blooded killer was on the loose, no sensible person would have left a single lock neglected.

But then again, they weren't on the doorstep of an exactly sane person. It had been worth a shot, and Ze'ev had not protested as he continuously shook the icy handle, twisting as per the older angel's instructions.

"Should they be held captive inside by this infernal fiend, I highly vacillate on the amount of good that would do us," he moved past Edge's hold, returning again to the door and steeling himself. This time, Edge did nothing to stop him as he brought a paw up to the stiff, sturdy blockade refusing to allow them entrance to the inside. He only flinched softly when a golden, luminous light sparked from Ze'ev's paw nails, spreading up his paw, reflecting off the surface of the door into the wolf's face.

It went against all the regulations and violations of human law that Edge had studiously hammered into his memory, to live the way a normal person would, to not be seen any different, to not be known or found out about in his angelic supernaturalism. He had to set one thought on repeat, playing over and over in his head, that _this was an important reason they were damaging private estate. This was a matter of life or death or . . . worse. Evil empowerment, an added force to the dark side._

He hardly had enough time to look up before Ze'ev was politely stepping past the charred remains of the still-simmering front door, into the dangerously dark house, just whispering of all the frightening otherworldly spirits lurking around in the umbra. Such little time he had to chase behind him, there was not a moment of caution to forewarn before entering a situation as unknown as this.

He doubted Ze'ev would have paid attention to anything he had to say, there would be no heed to a single word spoken. Not when he felt his allocated charge was in a predicament dealing with the _dark side._ Not when the invisible mental connection to his designated ward called him forward, urging him to move rapidly, with no hesitation . . .

Edge charged into the room not but a split second after Ze'ev, but already was addressed with a thunderous growl like rocks being raked against each other, coming to an curt standstill and brushing against Ze'ev's side, outstretched wings horripilate and fully visible. In the room, it would have been entirely dark, other than Ze'ev's wings - and now Edge's, brought out by stunned surprise - had a humanly physique not been pronounced around two red eyes.

Neither of the two angels had time to prepare as the beast charged in their direction, blood already dripping from the sudden appearance of a mouth, fangs extended and razor-edged as they slashed through the air, in a line directed for Ze'ev. Knowing that the wolf would not have the ability to hold up against a beginning strike as forceful as this, Edge sprung forward and cut off the perfectly judged leap, knocking into the savage creature. He was thrown off to find the fiend solid, not just a shadow as it had appeared to be, but was relieved to see it temporarily lose its balance. It gave him enough time to whirl around, searching for where Ze'ev had moved to during the tumble, but to his dismay he was in the exact spot as before, expression filled with more confusion. As if Edge could have expected anything else.

"Ze'ev, y-" He was cut off suddenly, and unexpected force of strength being slammed into him, throwing him to the side as if he were no more than a lightweight. From where he landed on the other side of the room, he already knew this hadn't been a physical push from the demon. Rather, it had something to do with the freakish, unnatural blue light surging around the shadowed beast. Deriving from the opposing fighter, it was aimed once again at him, but this time he knew it was not expected to send him any farther away. Deadly intentions were obvious, and Edge doubted he would have time to unfurl his wings from underneath him to act as a protectant against the fatal blast.

 **/ / \ \**

Ze'ev hadn't immediately moved to pose a threat against the dark spirit, the physical demon in the center of the room. His first thought was to assess the location of his designated Earthen, determine what kind of an enemy they were up against, ascertain whether or not there was anyone harmed from before he and Edge arrived.

What threw his whole defense off balance was the amount of individuals in the room, or lack thereof. He could _sense_ more than one, even before Edge had arrived, but in the unmeasured shade of the room, only _one_ was evident. And he was a little less than pleased to find the sole thing that greeted he and his companion a demonic entity.

And then, before having sorted out the absence of _someone else that he could_ feel _was around,_ the monster attacked without warning. It was a blur of feathers, black and white colliding with a sharp, bleared red, and a whole lot of unpleasant snarling.

Ze'ev was frozen, rooted to the floor as he watched helplessly, his mentor and the closest thing to a friend an angel could be with another of it's existence, the fight that was both unfair and unequaled in prepared vigor. His confusion, what all too often paralyzed him to the point of being unfocused on the important matter at hand, was a cloud overhead. He couldn't think. He couldn't react. He could only watch as a shimmery blue spark procured from the dark spirit, in the direction of Edge, sending him into across the air, roughly landing on a thankfully empty patch of flooring.

It was only when another wave was being directed, prepared to explode when it reached the end of the beast's aim - the older angel, who was struggling to stand, to deter the blast with his bent, momentarily frazzled wings - when Ze'ev found himself capable of acting.

Wings of gold, speckles of silver glittering as power sourced through them, they folded around the front of Ze'ev as he leaped in front of Edge, not but a single moment before the explosion was ejected. Two clashing colors, blinding had Ze'ev's eyes been hidden in the thickness of his wings, a radiant flash of hellish fire, piercing ice. His effort served its purpose, but it was not enough to hold up against intruding shadows that slithered along the floorboards, slipping under the loose folds in his overlapping wings. A tight grip seized his paw, wrapping around in spirals up, up, up, moving closer and becoming tighter as they reached his neck. He tried shaking it off, but it would not budge, only tightened and grew suffocating, constricting.

He unfolded the wings, for they no longer served a proper purpose shielding him or blocking the deleterious rays from reaching Edge, and began a frantic fight for another full breath of air. The shadow claws were spreading, moving around like a quick line of ants, a tight force not allowing any weakness to break past it. No matter how hard he fought against it, the more it strangled him. He dipped forward, a breathless numb extended from his burning lungs to his paws to his spinning head.

"Ze'ev, watch out!"

The familiar voice brought him back to earth, and it took a moment for the wolf to remember that this was not a dream, this was not a fight in the _up above._ He was here, on an assignment, and if he did not keep alert he would not only fail in his duty, but it would result in the end of Edge's too.

He had to protect his charge, no matter if he had supposed relations to them or not.

Ze'ev regained his balance and spun to face the direction of the call, dancing out of the way of another lightning blue strike, slowly regaining control of his breathing, his mind, his body. The shadows receded with the bright flash: the demon could not control both at once. And that was the first weakness Ze'ev realized. From there, it was a game of protecting the other angel, keeping his mind clear, and searching for flaws in the fight against him.

Just as he rolled in a crouch after diving nimbly away from a fizzling burst from the monster, a particularly electric blue, mingled with poisonous blood-like red, caught the corner of his vision. He corrected his stance, facing the demon with a passionate glare, but instead of being met with the anticipated blast preparing for emission, he barely had time to register the demonic specter barreling for him, fangs slashing, drops of blood and black matter flying behind . . .

His wings would have been useless, they wouldn't have even gotten halfway between him and the monster before he was pummeled mercilessly into the ground. Edge wouldn't have been able to cause a distraction, not this time. Ze'ev had a hunch that, in the blow that he had received by the forceful explosion, one or both of his wings had become damaged and therefore thrown him off entirely. Not to mention the pain would be as harsh as a bone splitting in two, and that it would pound through his entire body, for as long as his wings were on display. Ze'ev knew that injured wings were nothing taken lightly.

Nothing could have prevented the happenings of the following moments.

In pure defense, Ze'ev called up the only other additional weapon angels had, one that was used so very rarely. Only against other angels, creatures of the underworld. It was the only thing that could kill another ethereal being.

Miraculously, a radiant knife that was serrated and jagged in all the right, most perfectly devised places, appeared not but half a second before the demon attacked him. Ze'ev drove the angel's blade clear through the demonic spirit, and all of a sudden the world around was overtaken by unearthly screeching, abhorring cries of agony, a heavenly light rupturing from where the knife had been shoved. So bright, so overpowering, Ze'ev and, from across the room, Edge had to duck their heads in order to avoid losing their sight.

And as quickly as it had started, it all ended.

The light faded out, the cries dwindled and died. When Ze'ev felt it safe to open his eyes again, he expected the air to be clouded with the remaining mist of the evil spirit, what should have been the only evidence of having defeated the demon. There should have been a sense of completion, his mental link to his designated Earthen should have lessened in the urgency, the feeling of _something wrong._ They should have been alone in the room, just he and Edge.

There was not as much dust from the shadowed creature as predicted, but Ze'ev did not dwell on that, not when he was staring down at the sight of his assigned ward, on the floor, a no-longer-glowing blade buried to the tip of the knife's handle in his chest.

 _"...His soul is incomplete. And by that, I mean_ literally... _"_

 _"...with his soul broken ... it's an open invitation for_ the other side... _"_

With a shaky breath, Ze'ev came to the realization that he had not only killed the demon, but also his appointed Earthen. His charge. If Edge was correct, his _brother._

Unlike the brilliantly surreal light that had emitted from the space around the sharpened blade, it was substituted for the crimson gore that spilled from the wound. With every shallow, tremulous inhale taken by the dying Earthen at his paws, more life fled from his body, each exhale furthering any hope for saving.

He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until limpid blue eyes met his own, such a softer color than the vibrant, menacing deadly blast that had been shot from the monster. There was no resemblance between the demon that had manipulated the incomplete soul and the dog, no longer did the eyes shoot daggers of death, the only shadows were the surrounding darkness of the cold, emotionless room.

The stare never moved from Ze'ev's face, and he was not aware of anything else, not in that moment. Not when he could feel the remaining connection as an angel to his charge slowly but noticeably growing weaker. Not when their gazes were locked, when Scout let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "W-Why won't y-you . . . leave me . . . _alone?_ "

He was obviously enlightened upon the source of death that was approaching, for when he finally broke the unblinking stare, it was only for a moment of time - he did not let his eyes linger upon the angelic weapon piercing his skin, plunged so deep, causing actual blood to fall in puddles on the floor. This time it was not his mind teasing him, torturing him. The pain was as real as the wolf standing over him.

Ze'ev had nothing to say, he was torn between frenetic apologies and ripping the blade out, as if it could reverse the damage done. He knew it would not help, that nothing, at this point, would change what had happened. It wasn't as if he had much of an option in the first place. Leaving the demon, who was using Scout's body as a vessel to bring about more otherworldly harm and more murderous destruction in the city's streets, would not have been an alternative. There had been no other way visible to both terminate the demoniacal fiend and save Scout, who Ze'ev hadn't even known was already overtaken by the demon's control.

He and Edge had been too late. Far too late. They had not gotten to the house in time, entered, taken down the monster that threatened the safety and life of Ze'ev's dependent.

"Y-You just . . . won't . . . go a-away . . . will you?" Scout forced another dry laugh, but the sound that resulted was choking, rattling, steadily losing the little strength behind it. "I kn-knew . . . I knew you wouldn't. You p-promised me . . . you said you'd n-never leave m-me. You would . . . always be there. Y-You sure meant it, didn't you?" Ze'ev was silent, hardly breathing and finding the action more difficult with every passing second, every word spoken in a slow, broken tone. "I-I guess it's f-fitting you-you're here now. Come to . . . to watch me fail - _a-again_ \- when all I . . . I only did it . . . to be _w-with you._ That was a-all I wanted. I kn-knew I wasn't . . . wasn't strong enough . . . to live _without you._ "

His eyelids fell in increments, but a sliver of blue remained pointed up at Ze'ev, a dagger in and of itself searing through the angel's pure soul. "I was r-right. I _w-wasn't_ st-strong enough . . . not without y-you. Not w-without _you,_ Z. All that I wanted . . . it was so s-simple . . . I wanted to . . . be with y-you. _You_ w-were my l-life." Another sharp, delirious chuckle. "How i-ironic . . . you were my _life._ And n-now . . . you're my _death._ "

He felt as though he were missing emotions that should have been flooding his senses, the feelings that would have marked him as an actual being on the earth. He felt sad, he felt more disappointment than could have been measured, he was sorrowful, but he was missing an important sadness. Though he could see, he could _feel_ that Scout was his Earthen brother, _had been,_ he was at a loss for the memories that had been lost. He had no recollection of anything that happened _before_ the apparent incident that had landed him as an angel, his only blood relation to walk alone on earth.

Everything that had led up to that point. And Ze'ev was lacking the grief that should have been shattering his heart at the moment, the tears that should have been falling freely and joining the pool of blood on the ground beneath his paws.

The lightest sound of wings brushing against each other reminded Ze'ev that he and Scout were not alone, but he could not turn to Edge for any advice or answer on what to do. He was at a loss, unable to speak, unable to do _anything_ but listen to the breaths of little depth, the slow, final words of the dying human.

"B-But Ze'ev . . . Z, I n-never, not _e-ever_ stopped . . . stopped loving . . . _you._ " Scout's eyes remained open for a second longer, before they fell, and the world was absorbed by silence and the distinct smell of iron from the gore.

Ze'ev watched as the body became limp, as the blade stopped trembling when the final shudder passed through Scout's parted mouth. He closed his eyes, taking in a steady breath, before whispering, "If you get to heaven, I'll be there waiting for you."

A moment of quiet for all the memories and the life lost.

 **/ / \ \**

 **Yeah, I'm just gonna ... leave this chapter here ...**

 **Just a note, it not that Ze'ev wasn't** _ **sad.**_ **It's just that, as an angel, he didn't feel as much of a connection to Scout, any more than him being his assigned duty. But yes, he was sad. It's just harder for angels to portray that.**

 **OH WELL. NOT SORRY, PEOPLE. NOT SORRY AT ALL. ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO, AND I'M NOT READY FOR THIS STORY TO END.**

 **Hey, thanks for reading! I would be more than welcome to any correction of mistakes or any comments.**

 **(For an added bonus, you can listen to the last few paragraphs of this chapter to "Welcome to the Black Parade" and "Brother" for a lot more sadness added to the scene. XD)**

 **-Firepower**


	12. Long Live The Car Crash Hearts

**The only thing I haven't done yet is die.**

 **This is the final chapter.**

 **Welcome. It's here.**

 **/ / \ \**

Edge smiled softly to himself, changing his stride to a leisurely walk as he entered the open, rustic gates of the graveyard. Shifting his coat higher, to block out the chilling breeze that gently caressed his exposed face, he made his way across the snow covered ground, the pathway made by the trampling of feet, those who had been here for the exact reason he was.

Almost.

Gravestones rose from the ground, the inscriptions both old and newer, topped with a fresh layer of snow, the stones chipped but remaining standing, secure. A last stature crying out for recognition from family or friends or remaining relatives.

He took his time, not in the least bit hurried, not feeling the heavy, depressing weight of those who were deceased, buried here. Occasionally glancing to either side of the trail, letting his eyes take in the blurred lines of memorial and loving praises. Commemoration in the form of words, marking the final presence of someone who shed their earthly body for something clean, something heavenly, who left the dark and destruction of the world for something beautiful, an everlasting world of peace. Maybe even some who would become angels themselves, who would grow up in the footsteps of Edge and every other angel existing currently.

Maybe even those whose final destination lay not in the boundless _up above._

If he had taken longer to identify the names on each of the large stones, he may have been able to associate the past Earthens with who they were now, perhaps even single out one or more of his peers.

But he didn't. He continued walking, calmly, as if he had an unlimited time before him for this alone. As if the entire day had been planned to do just this, meandering around in an otherwise vacant graveyard. Tucked away from the streets and the restless noise of the city, yet not so cut off from civilization that those with loved ones would be given an inevitable shiver of haunt when come time to pay visit. It was peaceful, a better day couldn't have been chosen in place of that morning. He had left the house with a sense of lifted spirits, the fresh air welcome from where he had spent the past few days indoors, and had selected this as _the day._

The day he took time to reflect upon the past few weeks, the events that had occurred within that boundary of time.

The closer he approached the specific grave markers, the slower his steps became, decreasing in speed, though before he had not been walking quickly at all. His smile became more shallow, his distance to the only visible difference the past weeks made reducing. One paw in front of the other, he soon came upon the headstones that sat side by side, unbothered by any _one_ or any _thing,_ just waiting for him to look up and take notice of how undamaged, how undisturbed they were.

Instantly the slight upturn of his muzzle dropped away, the moment he turned his eyes to look over the more recent gravestone, fresh and not yet weathered fully by the harsh winds and ceaseless snow. The words engraved flawlessly stood out more bold than the companion stone on its right, having not had time yet to wear down in the conditions of the outside world.

 _ **SCOUT SLASH**_

Edge gave no regard to whatever had been put below the name, no heed to the date of birth and death, knowing that those two words were the only ones of importance.

Scout Slash - a troubled, lost soul who had wanted nothing more than to live forever with his brother in peace. Who had done all that he could manage to make that possible, what had only resulted in ruining any hope for a chance at a new life. A life at all.

Ze'ev's mission had been set up with no explanation, as Edge knew was normally done, but he couldn't help feel as though _this time_ it had been different. He was assigned as a guardian angel, a job meant to protect your Earthen from all otherworldly harm, from the ferocious grasp of the lurking evil. To help, to be a comfort in the midst of a traumatic or difficult time.

And Ze'ev had done that. He had stopped the fiend attacking from taking over Scout's body, turning him into the closest thing to a demon one could manage without being _turned._ And though death had come upon Ze'ev's charge, it was seen as a completion of the task. An achievement for the newer angel. The demonic entity no longer endangered the earth. Scout was no longer troubled or tormented by hallucinations and sinister visions, or anything at all. Mission complete.

Not but four days following Scout's death had Ze'ev been taken back _up_ , on a night that Edge had almost been expecting. The day before he had sat down and covered every topic and given every explanation to every question Ze'ev had, trying to fill in the holes of confusion still held by the wolf, sorting things out himself. He knew that there wouldn't be much time left before, once again, he was left as a lone angel in the city, surrounded by the faces of unknowing, normal people. And sure enough, the next morning there was not a trace of the younger angel to be found.

He was not saddened, for he knew, without doubt, that he would be returning to the _up above_ not long after, perhaps no longer than the next half year. He had Selene, but not for long. It was a downhill fight from here, and he knew it. It was the beginning of a complicated mess of disappointment and never-ending fight; it was the beginning of the official end.

 _Why was it that they all left him like this? How did he always get assigned the ones who were destined for a death too soon, those whose life was not lived to the fullest extent?_

Away from the tombstone that had been placed lovingly next to its fellow plaque, he shifted his gaze to the one more dulled, less recent and quite a far cry from eye-catching. To anyone but Edge, that is, who could almost envision a soft glow of warm golden light surrounding the small cracks.

 _ **ZE'EV SLASH**_

It had been set there for many years, had been worn down by the unpredictable weather and visited countless times, Edge knew, from a life that was now gone as well. As old as it was compared to the newer stone adjacent, he remembered the day it had been put up, a gloomy, cloudy day not unlike this.

He had watched from above, that grievous moment and before that . . . Long, long before that.

From near the beginning of the wolf's life, on earth as a normal human being, Edge had watched and protected him, from his residence in the sky above. Shortly following his mother's leave, after his father discarded him and his younger brother in the dirty, perilous streets of the city, Edge had been assigned to him. Only once lighting down upon the physical surface of the earth, in an attempt to lead Ze'ev and Scout to safety from dangers unknown to the two siblings, he had kept a sharp eye on _him._ He had warded off the forces of evil that dared to diminish the young wolf's optimism, hide his cheerfulness in a thick cloud of depression from the past. Not a day passed when he ignored the demands of his duty, and he was never bored of it, not once was unaware of the trials his dependent went through, did not miss an opportunity to ease his worries and troubles. He took it in all seriousness, because this one person's life depended on him to guard them, to act as a guide through the tough times.

And therefore it was quite a surprise when Edge turned his back for a single moment, when his help was needed elsewhere for what felt like a single minute, when he returned to his assigned watch . . . only to witness the devastating crash that claimed Ze'ev's, and Scout's, life. It was not as saddening as it would have been were he not an angel, but it was quite unexpected and a startling surprise. And just like that, in the time span of a heartbeat, he had been released of his duty over Ze'ev.

Ze'ev - who had, from an incredibly young age, devoted himself to finding and giving his, at the time, baby brother a better world than had been offered to him. Ze'ev, who had blindly trusted Edge, the angel in disguised form, in bringing him to an open, welcoming home. Ze'ev, who had been a friend to all, who, despite his own times of exhaustion and melancholy, and was always there for anyone who needed it. He was an upstanding Earthen, one who Edge would have loved to know personally, had he lived during that time period.

Ze'ev, who was a replacement for his absent brother as an angel, who all of a sudden was once again under Edge's literal wing. In the short time Edge had with him in the _up above,_ before being entrusted to Selene for the rest of her numbered days, he had proved himself to be a studious learner in the ways of the angels. He had never once complained - though he was an _angel,_ and his mind was set fully on his job, and completing all given tasks without mistake, falter, or question - and had remained closer to the husky over anyone else. Edge was his mentor, who he looked up to for help, almost exactly like it had been when he was a living being. Except unlike then, now he _knew_ Edge, he knew _who_ was helping him through his many troublesome endeavors and struggles to live up to what was expected of him.

And then, again, when he was sent to earth to _help_ Scout, when he and Edge were reunited and he was confounded by all the forgotten mysteries of the world around him.

Edge had always watched over him. He felt responsible for the wolf, his actions, what happened to him. Almost, he could imagine, what Ze'ev felt when he and Scout lived _alive_ together. A connection of relation, not just by blood but by a bond of brotherly love.

He knew Ze'ev would be fine on his own, in the _up above_ without Edge, at least until the older angel's mission here on earth was complete. It was hard to conceptualize the idea of the wolf unaffected by the death of his charge, of his _brother,_ but he believed Ze'ev would be fine. Having not as close a relationship with Scout, other than being his guardian angel, there was not the deep sorrow that had constantly overwhelmed the younger sibling. In a way, Edge found that a good thing: he would have been dispirited to see Ze'ev so upset as Scout had been, not only to have killed him but to also have erased his fragmented soul from existence entirely.

Things had not turned out as predicted, the case was all too unique for Edge to compare to anything. He did not anticipate that Ze'ev's arrival would bring about a demonic entity lurking around the city, did not plan on standing beside the younger angel during a funeral for someone who had been assumed to be "killed by the same murderer who ran rampant in the darkness of the night". Yet no one would ever hear more from that heartless slaughterer, no one would ever believe that it had died along with the dog that they were burying.

In a twisted way, it all worked out.

His unfocused eyes settled on an etching made on both memorials before him, and he blinked to clear the fog that had come from his deep thinking. The exact words on either stone, below their names and the marked dates of the days they first entered the world and when they took their final breath. Edge let a small smile slip, staring at the phrase for a long moment before closing his eyes, the image forever inscribed into his mind.

 _Long live the car crash hearts._

 **/ / \ \**

 **Six months have blurred by, as has this story, from beginning to end. Never did I imagine it to come this far, nor was this the original ending I had planned. What started out as a story not expected to reach past 10,000 words, something to write when my world was flipped and twisted in all the wrong ways, became this...**

 **The ending was, at first, intended to be happy. Everything would resolve itself in a manner of happiness, it would all work out and the sun would shine past the clouds. But we all know that life isn't like that. It's a mix of rain - depression, sadness, troubles - and sunshine - good memories, special friends and family, happiness - and not always will the positive side of life win. I am by far more content with leaving this single story as it is, the ending that I chose, rather than conjure up some "everything is perfect" kind of finish. Because while it doesn't leave you with the sensation of cheer, it isn't hopelessly sad either. It's an ending that is a little bit of both.**

 **I will restate here and now that this is a work of fiction. None of these events actually happened, and none of the facts about angels, demons, etc., are accurate. They are purely part of the world I created in my imagination.**

 **I will never be able to express my gratitude to those who read and reviewed this fanfic, and I cannot thank y'all enough. Especially my best friend, who is truly an inspiration that keeps me going through everything in my life.**

 **While Dear Gravity, ends here, I favor the idea of creating a prequel to this story, a look into Edge's life - from how he lived before becoming an angel, how he died, why he became Ze'ev's guardian angel before Ze'ev died . . . We will just have to see.**

 **Once again, thank you to everyone who read and commented! It kept me fueled in ways you would never imagine. Don't hesitate to tell me what you thought of this entire story, by either reviewing or contacting me on any of my social media. I am always looking for constructive criticism and new ideas for stories!**

 **So long live the car crash hearts,**

 **-Firepower P.**


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